


Brianna + John's Things-To-Do List

by skeltonberry



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Americans, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Romance, Artists, Awkward Romance, British Character, Canon LGBTQ Character, Canon LGBTQ Male Character, Comedy, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Immigration & Emigration, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Multi, New York City, Non-Graphic Smut, Other, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Friendship, Roommates, Scottish Character, Shameless Smut, Smut, Teenage Drama, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 85,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27624389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeltonberry/pseuds/skeltonberry
Summary: {OUTLANDER MODERN AU} • Brianna Fraser is the perfect girl in every way: exceptional daughter and skilled in almost everything she does. Frustrated with the monotony of her perfect life, she decides to turn her world upside down and begins her journey towards independence with a list of 100 things to do that could make her happier.John Grey, a young English artist, has lived in the United States since the beginning of his freshmen year in college at NYU, and the decisions he made in his past can endanger his future. When John and Brianna met, they didn't think they would end up in an unconventional mess - and the deal to overcome their "little" problem is that they can get to know each other better, putting into practice Brianna's list that she had forgotten about a long time ago.✧ ･ ﾟ NOTES ✧ ･ ﾟ• This fanfic is co-written with @emypondx [Wattpad / Twitter], feel free to take a look at her stories too (English is not our fist language so these chapters are going to be translated from Portuguese)!• The cover is a work of art by @patrocluspoet [Twitter], if you like it, go praise her for the wonderful work. This fanfic wouldn't be the same if the trio (caremycius) wasn't complete ♡
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Dorothea Grey/Denzell Hunter, Fergus Fraser/Marsali McKimmie Fraser, Lord John Grey/Brianna Randall Fraser MacKenzie
Comments: 90
Kudos: 73





	1. PROLOGUE

**5 YEARS EARLIER**

Life isn’t bad. It’s just hard sometimes.

That was what Brianna Ellen Fraser told herself every time she was having a crappy day – _life isn’t bad, it’s just hard sometimes._ She would repeat it like a mantra, until the point it became ridiculous and she would just start mocking herself. _White privileged girl thinks her life is hard_ – _joke of the year._ While punishing herself, she also tried to see the reality that surrounded her.

Bree had a wonderful home and an amazing family that loved her. After all, she was the daughter of James and Claire Fraser – if life were a movie or a TV show, Jamie and Claire would be the main couple loved by the audience, and Bree would be the supporting character that the fans would want to have less lines, because her scenes would be stealing her parents’ screen time. 

Claire Beauchamp had been an orphan since the age of five. She traveled the world with her uncle Lambert, and when she decided to settle down and go to college, she met Frank Randall. Her charming and manipulative – at least, that's how Mama described him – first husband, whom she married when she was nineteen, naive and in love. He was her first love, she said, but the flame of that marriage died out long before its end – and since that was the most stable life Claire had ever known, she stayed with Frank until he was killed in a tragic car accident, just before their eight-year wedding anniversary.

Claire's life went on: in fact, before Frank, her first love had been medicine. Sometime after becoming a widow at such a young age, she met Jamie Fraser at Scotland Yard – she was a forensic doctor, and he, at the time, a young sergeant. Bree already knew by heart the words Mama would say when she would tell about her and Da's story: he wasn't her first love, but he was the love of her life. 

"I had a marriage of convenience, Bree, and a marriage of love," she said, even though Brianna was far from the age of even thinking about getting married. "When it's your turn, remember to choose love".

She loved her parents. She loved them together. But she also wondered if she had not only become a projection of what they wanted her to be – if she had ever belonged to herself alone. She was not the first daughter – that was Faith, her stillborn sister who was the first tragedy that almost shook Claire and Jamie's relationship. Seeking a fresh start, they moved to Boston, where Bree was born. But she wasn't the eldest daughter either – this was Fergus, her adoptive brother. Jamie and Claire had adopted the French orphan when he was sixteen and Bree, twelve.

Who _was_ she, then?

She was the reincarnation of her grandmother Ellen, whom she had never met. At least, that was what her father said – and she could see the similarity between the two of them from her grandmother's black-and-white photos. She was the best dancer in her ballet class, but she was also a black-belt in taekwondo since she was a teenager: she was daddy's little girl that also knew how to defend herself. She had never done anything wrong, besides punching a schoolmate who tried to harass her, and anyway, everyone stood by her on this. She had the perfect academic record, the valedictorian of her class. She was a History major at Harvard, and she hadn't even felt the nervousness and expectation to receive her acceptance letter, she simply knew she would be approved. And she was.

Brianna didn't blame her parents for who she was – she liked who she was, despite everything. But she missed having the excitement for something, the tickling in her skin, doing something for the first time, doing something unexpected. She missed... feeling alive.

 _Mama and Da,_ she thought. _I thought I wanted to be a historian. It’s easy, I could do it. But… I don’t know if that’s what I want anymore. I don’t know if I want to stay in Harvard anymore._

_I want… to build things. To make things._

She felt her heart race for a moment, the excitement of the change that had not yet began. But it would come. She would build up courage and say those words out loud to Jamie and Claire.

Life isn’t bad. And she was going to make it worth it, even if she needed to do it until her dying day to make her feel complete.

Bree couldn't have cared less about Colonial America's History class – it had been minutes since Professor Stewart's voice had just become a muffled sound in her ears. She opened the notebook on a random blank page and began to write, feeling – perhaps, for the first time – the excitement even at her fingertips.

**Brianna Fraser’s**

**100 things-to-do list**

  1. **see dreams coming true**
  2. **travel the world (or at least to all the continents)**
  3. **collect something**
  4. **go to carnivals**
  5. **throw a slumber party**
  6. **kiss in the rain**
  7. **receive flowers**
  8. **first dates**
  9. **cooking (with someone special)**
  10. **saying “i love you” for the first time**



She stopped writing, feeling ridiculous. She almost cringed when she read the last items she wrote – they were embarrassing, but they were truthful. Brianna had never had a boyfriend because, first, she was six feet tall (since she was fifteen) and that scared the boys. Second, because her dad scared the boys.

She hadn't even had a real kiss, one that would give her butterflies and make her feel like she was floating. Well, she couldn't blame the boys with whom she had secretly had her failed attempts involving braces and other more disgusting details. After all, she had never even fallen in love. What could they do?

Like it could make the thoughts go away, she shook her head and went back to writing. 

  1. **watch the sunrise**
  2. **sleeping under the stars**
  3. **redecorate my bedroom (however I want)**
  4. **to have my own place**
  5. **help people**
  6. **see my favorite band live**
  7. **get a tattoo**
  8. **learn how to play an instrument**
  9. **learn a new language**
  10. **make new traditions on holidays**



Wow. Why on Earth had she put the title as 100 things to do? Why couldn't she have thought of a smaller number? She wasn't even sure she knew 100 words.

(Metaphorically speaking, of course. Brianna had also won the school's spelling bee.)

Completing her list of 100 things would not be easy, she realized. But if that was the beginning of her path to freedom, she would not stop until it was done. Her mother used to often say how stubborn the Frasers were.

And among them, perhaps she was the greatest.


	2. 1. W 86TH STREET STATION

**BRIANNA**

Someone could think that alarms are useless when you live in New York City – the city that never sleeps, where sirens and bulldozers don’t have a set time to scare a tourist. Well, nobody ever tells you that you get used to it, after a while. The noises of the city become almost relaxing.

And if it weren't for the lack of the bloody curtains she always forgot to buy – in that morning, their absence was a blessing – Brianna wouldn't have felt the warm sunlight coming in through her window, right in her face, getting her to wake up with the fright and realization that she hadn't set an alarm the night before.

And that she had spent a good part of the night binge-watching _Law & Order: SVU _.

“Holy f…”, she began to say and then covered her mouth. It had been years since she graduated high school, but whenever she thought of swearing, the time she had studied at a Catholic school and Sister Gerthrudes' disapproving look would take over her mind. Instead, she grabbed one of the pillows and stifled a scream against it, tossing it out of bed before standing up. “Damn it, Lizzie!”

Lizzie, the poor thing, had done nothing. She was just the one to blame for Brianna's recent addiction to Law & Order.

Okay, she was late by the standards of her normal routine, but she still had enough time for a quick shower... or maybe not. Well, she _had_ showered before going to sleep and still smelled good thanks to her body lotion – and as far as she knew and expected, no one in the office would smell her. She washed her face before brushing her teeth, walking around the room while trying to choose some clothes. _Who cares? Screw it_ , she thought before pulling on her black pants and white button-down shirt, tossing the two pieces on the bed so she could spit out the toothpaste and wash her mouth.

Alright. Face washed, teeth brushed. The hair... _ugh_ wasn't even a word, but it was the only way to define Brianna's hair. It had a life of his own, a curly, bulky red lion’s mane (thanks, Mama and Da). When it was under control, she usually didn't care about her curls – but she preferred to straighten it most days of the week. There was definitely no time left to blowdry it or use the straightener, so she simply took a scrunchie she found in the sink and stuck it in a ponytail, hoping it didn't look so frizzy.

While she was taking off her pajamas, her cellphone rang. When she saw the name on the screen, she he felt a mix of relief and despair.

“Marsali!”, she shouted, activating the speaker mode. “Have I told you…”, she held her breath and sucked her belly in before closing the pants’ button. She wasn't overweight, but not finding pants that fit her well was a price to pay for having large hips. She blamed Mama for that. “... that I love you today?”, she finished saying, zipping up.

“ _I'm not going to buy you coffee just because I'm an intern,_ ” Marsali said on the other end, sarcastically. Upon hearing the word "coffee," Bree could have sworn she heard her stomach complaining.

Mental note: do not binge-watch TV shows drinking wine and having ice cream only.

“ _By the way, where the hell are you? I thought you would arrive earlier considering …”_

“Yes,” Brianna interjected her as she buttoned her blouse. Heavens, she just hoped that the blouse was not inside out or that she missed any buttons. “I thought so too. But it doesn't matter, I'll be there in... half an hour?”, she guessed, almost like a prayer. It would be almost impossible, but she needed to try. “I had a little problem with time.”

“ _Oh my God, don't tell me a guy spent the night there_ ,” Marsali said, and Brianna could just imagine her facial expression while saying that. And even though she was busy putting on her shoes, she noticed that Marsali said "a guy" and not "Roger" because Marsali knew that Roger never spent any nights there.

“No, you pervert”, Bree grunted. “I need you to cover me. If Clarkson or Elijah ask anything, distract them with small talk. Do it for me, and I owe you my life.”

“ _Not that I'm counting_ ,” Marsali said, skeptical, “ _b_ _ut for the amount of times you've said that, you must be owing me your next reincarnations too. Hurry!”_

“I love you!”, Bree shouted before Marsali hung up. She already had her bag in hand, putting everything she needed inside it – wallet, keys, lipstick. She took one last look at the counter that integrated the living room with the kitchen: there was no time to eat anything.

She could only hope that she could buy a bagel and a cup of coffee on the way, or that someone on the subway would be selling cookies that might or might not contain drugs, but she would still risk it.

Bree ran down the stairs – the building she lived in was just a few steps away from W 86th station. That was one of the countless privileges she had thanks to her great-aunt, or as she called her, her fairy godmother, Jocasta Cameron.

A recent graduate young engineer would never be able to afford an apartment on the Upper West Side alone, or anywhere else in Manhattan for that matter, even having Brianna's resumé. Lucky her, Hector Cameron, Auntie Jo's late rich husband, owned some buildings in the city. Having her great-aunt as her landlord was another perk: she had made a “special” rental price for her favorite niece, Auntie had said with a wink.

She felt guilty that Auntie Jo was not an ordinary aunt, one of those that say they have no favorites and that love all their nieces and nephews equally. But that was simply Auntie Jo's personality, and no one could change her: she had always preferred Jamie over Aunt Janet, so Bree was more spoiled than her cousins. Sometimes she would also feel awful about having accepted the offer – she wanted to be able to pay a fair price for the rent, but if she was going to wait for it, she might have never left Boston.

Running down the stairs to enter the station, Brianna had to stop on the last few steps to catch her breath. She leaned against the handrail, which was probably the filthiest thing in the world, and breathed in the air that smelled of smoke and other odors, both good and bad. She loved that routine. She loved that dirty, chaotic city that had become her home.

After sliding the MetroCard and going through the turnstile, she felt less worse. Still neurotic, obviously, checking her cellphone every second to make sure she still had a chance of not being late. She was waiting for the A train, which would take her to FiDi, where the Cooper & Clarkson Engineering headquarters skyscraper was located. According to the LED screen, train A would arrive in a few minutes.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice came from beside her. She immediately turned to the owner of the voice, who also had a British accent …

Who also owned one of the most beautiful faces she had ever seen in her life.

Fortunately, she had inherited the ability to mask her emotions from her father, so the stranger who called her didn't realize that, inside, she felt like she had turned into jelly. He was a little taller than her, with great hair that she was sure was soft, a charming smile, bright blue eyes and... a clipboard in one hand and a pencil in the other. This made Bree frown.

“Can I help you?”, she asked, sounding more formal than she intended.

“Actually, you can,” his smile reappeared, this time crooked, lifting the corner of his mouth. _Wow_. “I'm an artist... well, I think that's pretty obvious”, he added, chuckling.

She saw that, leaning against the wall a few feet away from them, was a wooden easel.

That was New York, she was used to seeing all kinds of artistic manifestations at subway stations – from hip hop dancers to Hozier singing Take Me To Church – so that wasn't exactly what had surprised her. She was surprised that that guy was not a model or an actor.

“I saw you coming and…”, he bit his lip, and she noticed the tips of his ears turning into a dark shade of pink. “I don't need to explain, do I?”

Brianna was aware of how she looked – after she overcame the stage of hating herself for being taller than all her classmates at school, she just agreed to accept herself as she was. She had never thought she was ugly – but she knew that some people might find her weird and that she drew attention, even when she tried hard not to.

“I'm an artist too,” Bree replied. It wasn’t a lie. “Well, as a hobby, not for a living. So I'm going to let you draw me just to judge your skills, okay?”

_That is my one and only reason. Nothing to do with you being handsome and all._

The mysterious artist laughed and, with a wide smile of pure satisfaction, shook his head. When he started to slide his pencil across the paper, the noise of the train's arrival made the two of them direct their gaze to the tracks.

“Oh... is this yours?”, he asked cordially.

“No,” she lied, so quickly that she was startled by herself. It was as if she hadn't even been in control of the answer, hadn't even thought she would say that. That she would be _even more late_ because she wanted to see him drawing her. Marsali would judge her for that story, but she knew Lizzie would love it. “Oh, my God, you're not an caricature artist, are you? Because I already know enough how big my forehead and nose are and that I have deep dark bags under my eyes because I didn't have time to put on makeup.”

The guy didn't stop drawing – his hand guided the pencil through the paper like magic – but the expression on his face was evident.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply. Bree's eyes widened. “I don't understand how you manage to make pejorative comments about yourself when you look like an Amazon goddess.”

Brianna snorted and felt stupid for it in the next millisecond.

“Sorry. I'm not good with compliments. But thanks.”, she shrugged slightly. Maybe those words didn't pass through the guy's mental filter either, he just let them out completely naturally – and she was flattered by that.

He shook his head again, as if to say "you're welcome", and continued to work in silence. Bree bit her lip and looked sideways at the screen again, some other trains were coming and she had no idea which one she was going to get on to cover up her lie.

And the worst: she had no idea where they were going, which certainly didn't help the plan of _not being so late_.

The nameless artist looked up at her and she knew he was done.

“I don't believe it,” Bree said, almost teasing. “Don't tell me you did…”

He turned the clipboard over to her, and even her Fraser-blood ability to hide her emotions was no match for her jaw almost falling to the floor.

The drawing was perfect, and she almost thanked him for making her look so much better on that sheet of paper than what she saw in the bathroom mirror. It was a simple drawing, obviously, he had done it in _minutes_ , but he still managed to make it realistic. She wondered what he would do with available free hours and other materials besides the pencil.

“I'm waiting for your judgment.”, he said with a smirk. Obviously, Bree didn't need to say anything. Her face showed everything she was thinking, but she wanted to tell him anyway.

“This is incredible.”, she said, the tone of her soft voice showed how much she was amazed. “How much?”

It was his turn to widen his eyes.

“You want to buy this? It's just a sketch.”, he said, and she wanted to punch him for being so modest. “Sometimes I need to practice. I pick a random person around the city and try to draw them, and the best place to do that is at the stations. I just wanted to warn you so you wouldn't end up noticing and thinking I'm a kind of obsessed maniac.”

“Don’t be silly! Of course I want to buy it.”, Bree protested, already opening her purse to take out her wallet. She was going to state the obvious, that a successful artist in New York would probably have more to do than spend his time drawing people at the subway station, and that he probably needed the money, but she kept all those thoughts to herself. She didn't need to make the guy feel more humiliated.

“Let's do this, then,” he suggested. He looked over his shoulder at the screen, seeing that the B train was coming. “This must probably be yours?”, he raised an eyebrow. Bree just shook her head to agree, but inside she was thinking _for God's sake, what if I end up in Brooklyn?_ “If we meet again, I'll let you have it. For free.”

“I don't want to buy it _just_ because it’s beautiful. I want to buy it because I believe that you deserve something in exchange for your work, it’s the least I can do…”, she interrupted herself, looking at his clipboard. In the upper right corner, a name and the letter G., probably the initial of his surname, had been written with a permanent marker. “... John?”, she asked, uncertainly.

His eyes seemed to sparkle when he heard her saying his name.

“John Grey.”, he held out his hand to greet her. She squeezed, surprised by the soft skin of his palm, the calluses on his fingers and how hot he was. (In more ways than just one). “And you are...?”

“Brianna.”, she replied, taking a little longer than the socially acceptable before letting go of his hand, smiling a little afterwards. “Brianna Fraser.”

John Grey smirked again.

“Beautiful name. It suits you.”, he said. Despite the heat in her chest, she _hoped_ she hadn't blushed. _Watch out for British men_ , Mama's voice sounded in her head. “I'll keep my share of the deal. If we meet again, the portrait will be yours.”

Train B arrived and the doors opened. This was the time, she thought. _If it isn’t an express, I can jump off on the next station_. She just had no more hopes that she wouldn't be late – but she thought John Grey was a good reason for it.

“See you sometime, then.”, she said, raising her hand to wave at him. “And good luck with everything.”

She turned to enter the train right after he winked at her. And this time, yes, she had blushed.

…

Cooper & Clarkson Engineering occupied four floors of the commercial skyscraper where it was headquartered, divided into laboratories, offices, meeting rooms and technical areas. Brianna’s office, like most of the young engineers who worked at the company, was on the third floor – the 56th floor of the building – and she could have sworn the elevator had never taken as long to go up as it did that morning.

“You said half an hour!”, Marsali's face was the first one that Bree saw when the elevator doors opened, and she sighed with relief.

“I had a... problem at the subway.”, she said, and the tone of her voice when she said the word "problem" made Marsali raise a blond eyebrow.

“Consider this your lucky day, because Clarkson hasn't arrived yet and Elijah probably must be coming up with plans to kill you.”, Marsali said. “But you don't need to worry about him right now. Here,” she handed Bree a Dunkin’ Donuts brown bag and a cup of coffee. “I figured you probably hadn't had time to eat anything.”

“Mars, you're an angel without wings,” Bree exclaimed, accepting the bag and coffee willingly.

“In other words, I'm just a person,” Marsali rolled her eyes as they started walking towards Bree's small office.

Not everyone understood Marsali MacKimmie's peculiar sense of humor, but Brianna did – perhaps that was why they had become friends since Mars' first day of internship at the company. Of course Brianna had first become fond of her for her accent: Marsali was Scottish, from Inverness, and her accent reminded Bree of Da, Auntie Jenny and her entire family in the Highlands, as if having Marsali there could ease a little the longing she felt for all of them. But Marsali was also brilliant: she had moved to New York to study Engineering at Columbia, which would have been Brianna's second choice if she hadn't been accepted at MIT. She had to stay in Massachusetts until she graduated, but at least she was able to leave her parents' house as she hoped.

She was happy to have Marsali’s friendship, that blonde girl who was almost as stubborn as she was, extremely logical and who could seem cold to everyone, but Bree knew that she had a gold and loving heart. Besides, if Lizzie were her only friend, Brianna was afraid that the two of them would end up doing something crazy and get arrested for it.

“Do you know what he planned?”, Marsali asked when Brianna finally collapsed in her chair, ready to finally put something in her stomach.

“I don't know, and honestly, I don't care.”, Bree said, sincerely.

She wasn't intimidated by Elijah Reed, but for sure Brianna was his nemesis. They were both good at what they did, and Clarkson had given them a week to present a drone project with artificial intelligence that would be sold to the city hall for monitoring some public areas. It hadn't been difficult to think of something, she had an easy time developing her ideas. The only thing that worried Brianna was whether Jeff Clarkson's judgement would be fair and that he would choose the best – in good-cop and bad-cop politics, at Cooper & Clarkson he was _definitely_ the bad one.

“Life isn’t bad. Sexism just makes it hard sometimes” had become her new mantra in the last years.

… 

Deep down, she knew since the beginning of last week that she wouldn’t be chosen. That might have eased her frustration, but she couldn't help feeling like a wrecking ball had hit her day, completely destroying it. It had _not_ been fair, of course. Elijah's proposal was more expensive and way less efficient, but what did it matter? She tried to stay calm all the time and even congratulated Elijah, not feeling humiliated for it. She knew her own worth.

After focusing all day on her other projects to try to forget the disappointment, she took a deep breath as she watched the sun go down. It was time to go home. And she needed to buy more ice cream.

Mars had been _very_ wrong to say that that was Bree's lucky day. She took the crowded train out of Fulton Street Station and was crushed-slash-pushed for almost the entire journey, only getting an available sit when she was about to arrive at her street’s station. Fatigue and sadness had almost made her forget about John Grey, the artist, and the closer the train got to 86th Street station, the faster her heart beated.

He had managed to bring some good feelings to her day that had already started as a disaster. If she could, she would thank him for that.

The sadness she felt when the train doors opened and she realized that he wasn’t there was almost pathetic. _Don't be ridiculous_ , she ordered herself. Surely she should feel better about the guy not having spent the whole day there. Besides, she could still search for him on Instagram. Perhaps looking at pictures of that perfect face would make her less depressed.

Bree practically crawled down the street and up the building’s stairs until she reached her apartment door. She heard a noise from inside that made her hold her breath.

Her father was a police officer and she was still a black-belt in taekwondo, so she shouldn't freak out. Unless whoever was inside had a gun. However, maybe that day was not such a bad day to die.

She was about to put the key in the lock when she heard the sound of her blender running. _What the fuck? Did the burglar decide to make a smoothie?_

“Jesus Christ!”, she shouted when she opened the door at once and put her hand on her chest, trying to calm herself down.

“No, it's just me”, Lizzie laughed in the kitchen. “I'm making margaritas!”

Elizabeth Wemyss was adorable as a puppy – if puppies were always hyperactive and horny. She was an actress (or at least, she wanted to be), among other jobs ranging from waitress to nanny, depending on her mood, while her talent had not yet been discovered.

 _"God, if you're listening to me, I promise I'll be nice if I'm cast in a real movie,"_ she had prayed once, drunk, while she and Bree were at a party. _"Unless Timothée Chalamet is also in the movie, because I deserve better than that, don't you think?"_

“Bad day?”, she asked, pouting when she saw Bree's expression. “Wait, did you break up with Roger?”, the excitement in her voice came along with a wide smile.

It made Bree laugh.

“I don't understand why you don't like him.”, Brianna said, but at the same time she felt guilty. She realized that she hadn't talked or even thought about Roger all day, while fantasizing about John, the artist. She was definitely a horrible person. “It was just hard at work.”, she said.

“Tell me about it,” Lizzie sighed, making Brianna frown. “I found out that I can't be a good tour guide if I hate tourists.”, she said, bringing a glass of margarita to Bree, that laughed again.

“Honestly, what would I do without you?”

“I don't know, but your life would certainly be way more depressing.”, Lizzie stated before taking a sip.

As soon as she saw her there (she had completely forgotten that she had given Lizzie a copy of the key), Bree knew that Lizzie would be spending the night in her place. Sometimes things got bad between her father and her stepmother, and Bree decided she wouldn't ask about it anymore – she would just be there for her when she needed it, because she knew Lizzie would do the same if she could.

They drank margaritas, ordered pizza and watched several episodes of different TV shows. Bree almost forgot the shitty day at work and even told Lizzie about John Grey – and obviously Lizzie found his Instagram account a few minutes later.

“Don't follow him!”, Brianna said, a little drunk. “I don't want to seem desperate.”

She was grateful that Lizzie had brought a little joy to the end of her day. She went to sleep before her friend, and this time, she remembered to set the alarm on her cellphone to wake up. Being late definitely didn't help with her anxiety.

In the next morning, she woke up in her usual time, with enough hours to do whatever she wanted in peace: she took a hot shower, straightened her hair, put on some makeup, chose a prettier outfit and prepared her breakfast – everything while trying to be as silent as possible so she wouldn’t wake Lizzie up, even though she knew that her friend slept like a rock.

As soon as she started going down the stairs to enter the station, she felt butterflies in her stomach and hated herself for it. _Do I need to remind you that you have a boyfriend? Stop being like this over a complete stranger_ , a voice echoed in her brain. Reflecting on her feelings in the recent months for Roger, she didn't know if that voice came from the little angel or the little devil that would be on her shoulders if she were in an animated movie.

She walked through the station, apologized to the people she accidentally bumped against and passed the turnstile while staring at her feet. And when she looked up, she saw him.

 _He was there_. And even without having the intention, she immediately returned the smile he gave her.


	3. 2. DAYS OF FIGHT AND DEFEAT

**JOHN**

The apartment that John Grey shared with his friend, Denzell Hunter, was in Dumbo, Brooklyn, and was—at best—tidy. There was not much room for John's few belongings, nor for the plethora of books that Denny used at SUNY, where he went to medical school. There was even less space for Willie, his fiery ego and unsteady temperament that made no attempt to hide that the apartment was his and that the presence of the other two there was merely an inconvenience.

The key spun with difficulty in the keyhole and John had to force the door with his shoulder to get inside. He heard the loud snoring before he saw Willie sprawled on the sofa, his hairy belly rising and falling as he enjoyed his sleep. Without wanting to wake him, John closed the door behind him as carefully as possible and placed his keys on the three-foot countertop that separated the tiny kitchen from the still-smaller living room.

“Willie?” he whispered, sneaking up to the threadbare green velvet sofa. As he approached, John leaned forward and stroked his dark brown head with all the delicacy of the world, receiving a snarl and an almost bite. “Ouch! You brat!”

Willie barked a few times, sulky. John tried to sit on the couch, realizing immediately that he would end up losing an ear if he tried to invade that damned dog's personal space.

"You give them love, affection, give them a home and feed them," he muttered, taking off his denim jacket and placing it on the rack that was the old bicycle he and Denny shared, nailed to the wall behind the door. “Still, one fine day, they wake up and decide that they will rebel against you.”

_ This is what you deserve for being such a disappointment to your parents _ , he thought bitterly.

His eyes went down to the chocolate-colored dog again and he frowned.

“You are not a disappointment to me, okay? I love you and accept you for who you are.”

Willie snarled again and John smiled, unbuckling his belt as he headed for the shower. There was something about spending a lot of time on the New York subways that always made him feel the overwhelming need to take a shower and remove any remnants of dirt from the big city. With the door closed, he kicked his pants to the floor and pulled his gray shirt over his head, wrinkling his nose with the pungent smell of cigarette. He hated that smell, but it was impossible to spend more than a few minutes with failed artists like him without someone pulling a death-stick to inhale.

The bathroom he shared with Denny was, like the whole apartment, ridiculously small for two adult men and a stray dog of unknown origin—John had always had cats during his childhood and Denny had attended a lecture on the importance of adoption for the emotional development of stray animals, so none of them sought to know what kind of little monster Willie really was. The tile was a beige shade that looked terribly grimy, despite the meticulous efforts of both residents to make sure everything was perfectly clean. They had a bathtub, but it was so small that John, being six feet tall, could barely sit without being extremely uncomfortable and the shower had been torturing them for months with cold and insistent drops.

Standing, John had to be very careful not to hit his nose in the shower and it was necessary to juggle a lot so that he could wash his dark hair. He washed himself, trying the new meditation exercise his mother had seen on YouTube and insisted that he’d learn. He had woken up with a bad and sulky feeling, not quite knowing why he felt like that. It was only during the ride to the subway that John remembered what day it was and swore so loudly that he made a little lady, who was handing out pamphlets about the end of the world, glare at him.

He would have spent the whole day frowning and probably wouldn't be able to get anyone to stop to buy his drawings if it weren't for that red-haired girl. Anyone with a pair of healthy eyes—or contact lenses, like him—could see how beautiful she was. Tall as an Amazon, with that shiny red hair, long nose and bone structure of a viking warrior. Denny had once mentioned that John did not like obvious beauty and this was reflected in the level of strangeness of the boyfriends and girlfriends he had had in all of his twenty-six years of amorous deceptions.

"Brianna," he murmured, trying the name on his mouth. He was pretty sure he had never met a Brianna in his life and it made him like her even more.

As Denny had pointed out, John was not the biggest fan of obviously beautiful people. They were used to having other people's attention delivered to them on a silver platter and therefore, most of the time, they couldn't afford to be interesting. Brianna, on the other hand, was stunning and an  _ artist _ . There was something about her, something he could not identify, which was what drew him towards her that morning. He didn't know if it was the way she walked; haughty and imposing, with the determined countenance of someone who knew exactly where they were going. Brianna emanated an almost ethereal, magnetic glow that seemed to pull him towards her. She was one of those people you  _ need  _ to stop and talk to because it would be a shame to miss the opportunity. Or maybe it was the way her expression became impenetrable when he approached her and how delightful it was to see her pose crumble when he showed her the drawing he had made. He didn't usually flirt with strangers, at least not without a few drinks before, but the strange pleasure he had felt in making her blush minimally had made his day a lot lighter.

"Brianna Froizer," he repeated, closing the tap and sliding out of the bathtub.

A girl as beautiful as she probably had an Instagram account, right?

Wrong.

It was almost 7pm when John finally gave up searching for her profile. He had tried all the social networks he knew—all three—and none “Brianna Froizer” showed up on Instagram, Twitter or YouTube. He flung the phone to the side, making Willie bark and growl as usual.

“Cases of murder by stalkers have increased considerably in recent years, you know?” asked Denny, blowing out a mouthful of macaroni and cheese before putting it in his mouth. When his friend ignored his joke, he continued: “Have you tried Facebook?”

Denzell Hunter was a handsome man, despite being extremely irritating. He was a few inches shorter than John and had olive brown eyes, his thick eyebrows were as dark as the curls on his head. John considered him a brother more than a friend.

"Nobody's been using Facebook for at least five years, man," he muttered, rolling his blue eyes.

"I still do," Denny protested, diverting his attention from the 12-inch TV they had bought after working their arses off. “It is a great way to promote important causes and keep in touch with what happens in the world.”

“If you don't mind knowing what happens in the world a month late…”

"Anyway," continued the other, calmly. “From the way you described this girl, she looks way out of your league.”

John looked at him, both eyebrows raised.

“My league as good as any other. Even better, I’d say.”

It was Denny's turn to frown.

“You knew that phallic obsession is one of the problems of fragile masculinity, right?”

“Phallic obses- Denzell, for God's sake, that's not what I meant,” John felt his face heat up, but the only source of light, the TV that was broadcasting the news, covered up his blushing. “What I meant is that I am a handsome and interesting guy while you are Denzell Hunter.”

“You're only saying that because you're bored and you can't pull a Joe Goldberg on this girl.”

“Joe who?”

"He's a stalker on a Netflix show," Denny explained. “Rachel said it was good.”

“Since when do you have time to watch Netflix? And besides, your sister has a dubious taste for entertainment.”

"Said the guy who dated  _ Perseverance Wainwright, _ " mocked Denzell, pronouncing the name in a ridiculously forced French accent. "Has he ever married that rich old French woman?"

John did not like talking about Percy, mainly because there was nothing good to be said and he hated making negative comments about people he had once liked.

“I have no idea.”

Willie, who seemed strangely peaceful until that moment, started to bark and John reached for his cellphone. He saw his older brother's name on the screen and smiled, clicking the green button on the screen. Denny politely turned the TV down and got up to turn on the lights and wash his dishes.

“Hal!” he said, clearing his throat and trying to sound moody. “I thought you forgot.”

He could even to hear his brother on the other end of the line, yawning loudly before answering.

" _ You are very dramatic _ ," said his older brother, sounding very sleepy. “ _ I had a very exhausting day today.” _

"You sound tired," said John, feeling his heart sink. “Wait, what time is it there?”

Hal was slow to answer and John could hear him grumbling, as if he was trying to tell the time without hanging up.

" _ Stupid little device, _ " swore the eldest of the Grey brothers, irritably.  _ “It should be half past twelve? I don’t know. I got home late from the office and ended up dozing off. I just woke up.” _

“How are things over there?”

" _ Mum is thinking about opening a space for yoga classes, _ " Hal commented, not bothering to hide the discontent in his voice. “ _ Dad thinks the idea is ridiculous, but you know that he supports any crazy idea from Lady Benedicta.” _

“She’s passionate, that's a good thing.”

" _ It's a headache, _ " Hal corrected.  _ “You two are very much alike.” _

John didn't quite know how to argue with that.

“What about Dad? Has he ever forgiven me for being a disappointment?” he tried to say it casually, but the bitterness in his chest made it very clear that the subject still hurt, even if he didn't admit it.

“ _ Disappointing someone does not mean you are a disappointment, John. People can't hope you’ll to live up to their expectations because they’re the ones who’ll end up upset when you choose what's best for you. _ ”

This was not the first time Hal had said that, but John needed to hear that statement more often than not. He knew that his parents didn't hate him for wanting a different life than the one they had planned, but a part of him just couldn't let go of the feeling that he was rather a disappointment and that he was being extremely ungrateful and a constant source of concern for Gergard and Benedicta Grey.

“ _ I believe you aren’t planning on visiting us at the end of the year, right? _ ” there was no bitterness in his brother's voice, but he knew very well what Hal thought about him moving to the United States.

"I don't know, Hal," Denny, who had sat down again and was watching the TV, noticed the change in his tone and gave him a sideways glance. “It is still too early to know if I will have time off and my job…”

" _... is more important than the family, _ " Hal added. “ _ Very Grey of you. _ ”

"Look, I have to go," John lied. “Thank you for calling.”

“ _ Tradition is tradition, right? Happy anniversary of emotional emancipation. _ ”

“Thanks, Hal. I love you.”

“ _ I love you too, you idiot. _ ”

John lowered his phone and sighed, overwhelmed by the strange feeling of exhaustion. He loved Hal, and his parents, but the effort it took to talk to them was undeniable, especially when he needed to step on eggs to not talk more than he should.

“You haven't told him yet, have you?” asked Denny, making his friend look up. “He can help you, John.”

“No, he can't”.

"You promised you would tell if your last attempt to get a sponsorship didn't work," Denny reminded him. “Three years, man. You can't go on like this, it's dangerous.”

John winced. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of his problems.

“I just need to get my life together, Denny. I'll find out how to make it work.”

“My God, did I travel back in time?” Denzell paused dramatically, placing his hand on his chest. “Oh no. It's just that I've heard this conversation before.”

“Unfortunately, not all of us have the perfect life plan detailed in our heads.”

The apartment was too small for him to afford to go to his own room and slam the door. Denny, however, knew his friend too well to know when he wanted to be alone and stood up, mumbling a "good night" before taking Willie to his room. John got ready for bed and went for the couch, making it into a bed too small for his feet not to stick out.

Before going to bed, he took the sketch he had made of Brianna Foizer and wondered if he would see her again the next day. It was still too early to sleep, but he was exhausted—in every respect—and it didn’t took long for him to visit Morpheus' palace and be wrapped in the warm embrace of sleepiness.

He woke up at two in the morning, remembering that he hadn't removed his contact lenses. Staggering and drowsy, he went to the bathroom and blindly returned to the sofa a few minutes later.

The atmosphere between John and Denzell did not tend to be tense or uncomfortable for long. The medical student woke up earlier, as he always did, and prepared their breakfast while John took his shower before leaving. They ate in silence, but not because they were still irritated with each other but because neither worked well in the morning.

“Do you have study group today?” asked John, after swallowing a piece of bread and jam. After so many years living in the United States, the thing John missed most was the English breakfast. Denny was American, from Missouri, so he was okay with dull things like peanut butter sandwiches with jelly.

"God, no," he replied, shuddering. “I will go with Rachel to a protest in favor of the implementation of preventive measures in large factories and other smaller companies that emanate too much CO2 in the atmosphere.”

Rachel Hunter was Denny's younger sister. The girl was a genius and very determined. She took journalism in Princeton, New Jersey, and lived in a girls-only republic, where they would always organize protests for some trendy causes.

“Sounds super fun,” replied John, pushing his glasses over the bridge of his nose.

“You should come with us. You might learn something.”

John blew his coffee theatrically and took a long drink before answering.

“I'm an artist, Hunter. In chaos, I thrive.”

He didn't expect to see her again. Of course, that could happen. New York was a huge city, but not a black hole. Still, John felt like a complete idiot for smiling the instant he saw her. He didn't want to look cocky or anything, but he noticed that her eyes scanned several faces before meeting his. Brianna smiled and he returned the gesture, almost vibrating from head to toe.

"You came," he said, regretting the very moment the words escaped between his lips.  _ Of course she came, she uses the subway to go to work, you asshole, _ he thought.  _ Do you think she came to see you? _

"I came," she agreed, showing her teeth when she smiled. “I said I would pay for a drawing, right?”

“And I said you would get it for free.”

They looked at each other for what seemed like an infinity of seconds. Brianna's hair was straight and she wore little makeup that accentuated her natural beauty. He couldn't decide if she was more beautiful that day or the day before. She was also analyzing him, he realized, satisfied. Although her expression was receptive, her eyes did not convey anything she did not want.

“So? Where is it?” she asked, looking away.

“Where's what?”

Brianna laughed, a melodious sound that he wished he could have heard better through the uninterrupted cacophony of people coming and going with the trains.

“The drawing, John.”

He hated the way his name sounded deliciously better when she said it.

"Oh, I didn't bring it," he lied, aware that the drawing was under other sheets on his clipboard. “I thought I caught it before I left this morning, but I must have left it on the table.”

She seemed to ponder.

“Maybe tomorrow, then?”

_ Yes, please! _

“Yeah, maybe”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but a masculine voice with a strong Scottish accent—he wasn't sure, but it seemed to be Scottish—made her turn quickly.

“Bree!”

"Roger," she said, smiling. John spent a lot of time watching faces, after all that was his passion, so he noticed the subtle change in the muscles of her jaw. “What are you doing here?”

Roger was a tall guy. John and Brianna were considerably tall, but that man seemed to be over six feet tall. He had straight, dark hair, thick eyebrows and ridiculously green eyes. His beard was very well shaved, but something in the shape of his face made him look like a cartoon mouse. He wore a boring gray outfit, with meticulously polished shoes and even a tie. John would not be surprised if he pulled out a bible and started reading verses to New Yorkers in a hurry.

"I told ye I had a job interview at NYU." The newcomer approached Brianna, putting his arm around her waist to kiss her on the lips. John restrained himself with an urge to roll his eyes. The ridiculously obvious attempt to demarcate territory had made a spark of disappointment burn in the pit of his stomach, but he pushed that disgust under his emotional carpet. “You are beautiful today.”

_ Today? My God, this guy is a moron. _

"Wow, I'm sorry." Brianna raised a hand to her forehead. “I completely forgot about your interview.”

“You're a professor?” asked John, making their attention turn to him.

"History," he agreed. “Roger Wakefield. Ye are…?”

“John. John Grey,” the handshake was definitely stronger than necessary.

Roger's eyes hovered over the clipboard that John was holding and he had to contain the urge to hide his work. Wakefield didn't seem like the type of guy who enjoyed art and he wondered what the hell Brianna had seen in him.

"Wow," said Roger. “You're good at this, man. Do ye work for Bree's aunt?”

Brianna closed her eyes and sighed, opening them again to answer.

"No," she said, without looking John in the eye. “We met yesterday here at the station.”

"I did a portrait of her," explained John, smiling friendly. He didn't want to be petulant, except... he did.

“Oh,” Roger nodded. “It must be very difficult to draw a lass as beautiful as Brianna.”

_ Lass? Was he for real?  _

"Yes, so it is necessary to pay attention to details," agreed John.

"My aunt," began Brianna, standing up to reach her full height. She didn't seem to want to intimidate, just to regain control of the situation. “Have you heard of Jocasta Cameron?”

John's jaw dropped involuntarily.

“She owns River Run Gallery,” he didn't want to sound like a stalker, especially in front of Roger Wakefield, but Jocasta Cameron was one of New York's most famous artists and sponsors.

Brianna nodded.

“She's looking for new artists ... I hadn't thought of that before, but maybe I can give her your name?”

John wanted to kiss her. He had many reasons to support that urge, but Brianna Froizer had just thrown him a life jacket that she didn't even know he needed.

“It would be great!” admitted John, watching her pull out her phone.

Both exchanged phone numbers while Roger scowled at them. The deafening noise of the train arriving at the station made them look at the screen to see which one had just arrived.

"I have to go," she said, not moving when Roger leaned down to kiss her again.

“Yours is B, isn’t it?” John asked, confused.

Roger laughed.

“Of course not. That one goes to Brooklyn, Brianna works in the Financial District.”

Brianna might be very good at hiding her emotions, but even she hadn't been able to avoid the blush that washed over her cheeks.

"Roger, you're going to be late for your interview," she muttered, looking at John right away. “I'll talk to my aunt about you, okay?”

"Thank you very much," he replied.

It was only after several minutes since Brianna had disappeared on the train that he remembered that he would not see her the next day. He had promised to take Mrs. Figg’s—who lived downstairs—poodles for a walk in the morning and she had promised to pay fifty dollars for the service.

“Poor people never get a day off.”

Another train arrived at the station and John wondered where it would take him.


	4. 3. ILLUSIONS AND DELUSIONS

**BRIANNA**

There are three things you need to know about Roger Wakefield.

The first one: he is Scottish. Yep. From a small town  – a village, actually, called Kyle of Lochalsh. One could think that Brianna, living in New York, ending up dating a Scotsman could be an evidence of daddy issues, but she sworn it wasn't. The fact that he was Scottish was not the reason why she became interested and fond of him, the opposite of what had happened with Marsali. It was just a big coincidence, and she hoped it was a good one, a sign that her Da might like Roger for being his compatriot.

Spoiler: it wasn’t.

Brianna and Roger met at a party that Lizzie forced her to go to. He took the initiative to speak to her  – perhaps because she stood out in the place, even if she didn't want to. Well, it was her own fault for deciding to wear high-heeled shoes that night that made her at least two inches taller. They talked for a while, had a few drinks, and ended up kissing a few times. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't spectacular either. She thought he would become just another name in her mental record of  _ guys that I made out with but nowadays we don’t talk anymore and I couldn’t care less about them _ .

In some moment of that night, while she was a little drunk, maybe she had given him her phone number. And he called. And... he kept calling. That was probably why they were still together: Roger was really invested in that relationship.

The second thing: he is a History teacher. Or at least, wants to be. There wasn’t a single time when he met a new person that he missed the opportunity to say, with his chest puffed up, that he had refused the proposal to join the faculty of Oxford University, where he would be one of the youngest professors at the acclaimed institution. He declined the offer to start his PhD at Yale  – after all, it was an Ivy League  – and that was where his American dream began. He moved to New York after completing his doctorate.

Bree found it interesting, even cool, that they had that in common. Despite dropping out before completing her first year at Harvard, she still liked History, even if it wasn't her passion. It was nice to talk about it with Roger until the point where he went from being a historian to a master of mansplaining. He managed to become incredibly irritating when he assumed that Bree couldn't know things because, apparently, there was only room for numbers and science in her brain.

The third thing: he was extremely controlling. And stubborn. Brianna's luck was that she was even more stubborn, or  – honestly  – she didn't know where that relationship would end up.

The truth was that after a few months of good kisses (because they didn't make it past second base), average dates and days that were certainly worse than others, Brianna decided and accepted, in peace, that it was time to put an end to it. Roger was clearly much more interested in her than she was in him, and he deserved someone that would return his feelings in an equal way. And she deserved someone she didn't feel bored with most of the time.

Like, he was not a bad person. When he’d say something sexist, she would immediately scold him and he would immediately apologize  – she couldn't tell if he meant it or if he was just doing it to keep things between them the way they were. He had also never forced her to do anything against her will. Well, he had tried, but when she said she wasn't ready yet, he respected her. Brianna just didn't think he was a wonderful guy for doing the bare minimum that any decent man should do.

And then he hit her with his checkmate.

_ "Your parents are coming this weekend, aren't they?" _ , he commented while they were having lunch at Hao Noodle, a Chinese restaurant in Greenwich Village. Brianna froze and swallowed, trying to hide how much the phrase had affected her. How the hell did he know that? She didn't remember telling him  – in fact, she was sure she hadn't. Unless…

Her cellphone had a password, of course, and she hoped he didn't know it. But message notifications appeared when the device was unlocked anyway.

_ "Yeah, they are", _ she replied with a fake smile, desperate to change the subject.

Of course she was ecstatic that Mama and Da would finally have a break that would allow them to visit her. She missed them so much. But she didn't want them to meet Roger, not yet –  as far as they knew, Roger was just a casual thing, nothing serious. Because of that, they hardly bothered to ask about him.

_ "I would like to meet them", _ he said. Bree filled her mouth with a generous portion of ramen so as not to let out a frustrated breath.

_ “I think it's too early for that. Sorry.” _ , she said, simply. Roger had seemed to understand the message and changed the subject. Or at least that's what she imagined.

The early spring Saturday when her parents arrived in New York seemed like the perfect day: the weather was wonderful, and the low tourist season gave them more freedom to act like... well,  _ tourists _ . She took Mama and Da to take pictures at the LOVE sculpture on Sixth Avenue, bought them T-shirts written “I HEART NY” in Times Square and took them to watch a Knicks v. Bulls basketball game in the late afternoon  – exactly what every New Yorker would  _ never  _ do, but she didn't care. After all, she was Bostonian, and she was happy to be able to share those silly and shameful moments with her parents.

The perfect end to the perfect day would be having dinner at her apartment. She was no professional cook yet, but she was trying, and she would risk saying she was becoming an expert in pasta. She imagined that sitting at her  _ own _ dining table with her parents while eating ravioli with white wine would be extremely satisfying: the combination of her independence with the people she loved most in the world. Bree hoped that, at the end of the day, they would be proud of her.

When they arrived at her building, Bree found Roger standing in front of her apartment door, holding a delivery bag of Italian food and red wine.

_ "Surprise!" _ , he said with a friendly smile. Brianna smiled too, just after the millisecond in which her expression gave away several emotions at once  – surprise, yes, but also shock and disappointment. Roger didn't notice, Mama didn't either. But Da knew her.

Maybe that's why Jamie Fraser didn’t sympathize with Roger Wakefield from the start.

Dinner was not a complete disaster, nor was it unpleasant. She thought that at least Mama and Roger were having fun, and Da occasionally forced a smile when he wasn't looking at her out of the corner of his eye, as if he were watching her. Bree was silent most of the time, and she took advantage of the fact that she was hungry like a dragon and kept her mouth busy chewing. Inside, a whirlwind of emotions made her almost want to throw up. Who did he think he was? Why hadn't he respected her decision to wait? Why would he act like a surprise like that was a silly thing?

She decided she was going to break up with him the next day. Hours later, when Roger left and Da went to bed in the guest room, Bree was alone in the kitchen, doing the dishes that had been there since breakfast and also the glasses and cutlery they had used for dinner. Mama came up from behind, hugging her and resting her head on Bree’s arm, since Claire was several inches shorter than Brianna.

_ "I'm proud of you, Bree." _ , said Claire. Bree froze for a second and then turned off the tap to turn to her mother. Her amber eyes seemed to sparkle with pleasure.  _ “He's one of the good ones. I loved him. ” _

Bree felt like she had swallowed sand. The discomfort was so great that she didn’t know how she was able to hide it and smile.

After years of hearing about her parents' epic love story, after years of Mama's disapproving looks at Bree's boyfriends, now she had to see Claire standing there and being proud because she was with Roger.

_ "Yeah. I know.” _ , Bree replied. When Mama kissed her good night and went to join Da in the guest room, Bree went back to doing the dishes, while cold, silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

…

Bree knew that the easiest place to find Auntie Jo was not her penthouse on the Upper East Side  – even though it was getting dark, she was sure her great aunt was at the gallery in SoHo. Brianna went down to Little Italy to buy a box of gelato to go before calling an Uber to take her to River Run Gallery.

Although it hadn’t been an easy day at work  – honestly, when were they easy?  – she hadn't been able to stop thinking about what had happened in the morning. She felt like she had butterflies in her stomach when she met John Grey at the station (and yes, she felt stupid for that), and when Roger arrived, it was like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water at her while she was sleeping.  _ Time to stop dreaming and go back to reality _ . Because, yes, John Grey looked too good to be true: he was handsome, talented, charming and polite. He was British, for God's sake. She had felt  –  great chances that it was just an illusion of her brain and her poor track record of social skills  – that something had happened between them, even though it was just some casual flirtation the day before, when he had drawn her, and seconds before Roger appeared.

She definitely knew that no one could be that perfect. Maybe he was a drug dealer during his free time, so he was able to support himself as an artist. Maybe he was a nymphomaniac.

That last thought made her blush with shame. Fortunately the Uber driver was not interested in maintaining eye contact to notice it.

The SoHo region was probably one of Bree's favorite parts of Manhattan. It was practically consecrated as a shopping paradise and whatever else was considered cool that year. She saw several tattoo shops turning into geek stores that turned into frozen yogurt stores that turned into bubble tea stores... the list was endless. The world changes, people and their tastes change, SoHo changes. But the River Run Gallery didn’t change.

Auntie Jo was a renowned artist  – apparently, it was in their blood. Except for Da, who only knew how to draw stick figures with circular heads, of course. Auntie Jo always told her stories about her grandmother, Ellen, and how the two of them started their careers as artists early. Grandma Ellen had to interrupt her plans when she married and became a mother, deciding that the life of a housewife was what her heart wanted. Bree wondered if that hadn’t been a decision imposed by the sexism at the time, after all, in the 60’s women working wasn’t something that was encouraged at all.

_ "Ah, dear," _ Auntie Jo laughed once.  _ “If Brian ever tried to force Ellen to do something she didn't want to do, she would definitely cut off his penis. I wish you could have met them.” _

She would also like to have met the grandparents that her parents had honored when they baptized her. It was unfair and tragic that both Mama and Da had lost their parents, and that thought only made her appreciate them even more. Life was as fragile as glass.

Brianna opened the gallery door and was faced with a rather peculiar scene. In the middle of the lobby, Auntie Jo was hanging from a ladder while trying to adjust the top of the sculpture of a man made of wire (or at least she thought it was a man, otherwise that curved wire between its legs might look weird, to say the least) that should be at least eight foot tall.

“Auntie Jo!”, Bree exclaimed. The lady turned to her and smiled before she started going down the stairs. “What are you doing? Don't you have an employee who can help you? This is dangerous!”

Besides her advanced age (even though she seemed to be much younger due to skin care and plastic surgery), Auntie Jo also suffered from a condition called keratoconus, which compromised her vision. If she had been diagnosed during the early stage, perhaps her vision would not have been so bad  – but for months and months she was convinced that it was just a symptom of the passage of time and that she just needed new glasses.

Brianna hung the gelato bag over her arm and ran to grab the ladder.

“Everyone has left already”, her aunt explained. “And I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if I knew I had left a wire out of place.”

Bree laughed, knowing what her aunt meant. When she was stuck on a project and, in the middle of the night, the answer to an unknown question appeared in her mind, she’d always get up and would immediately go back to work  – even if it were three in the morning.

“How are you?”, Bree asked, putting an arm around her aunt's body to guide her to the raised floor part of the room. The height was small enough to need only three steps, but high enough that they could sit on the edge, like a grandstand.

Jocasta let out a breath, casting a look of  _ you know exactly how I am  _ at Bree, with her blue-gray eyes.

"I brought pistachio gelato," Bree offered innocently, as if her aunt was a child and candy could solve all her problems. Auntie Jo laughed.

“I wish you had brought whisky,  _ a leannan _ , but thanks.”, she said. Brianna did not like whisky, which was almost a blasphemy for her father and the entire Fraser-MacKenzie side of her family.

“When will the surgery be?”, Brianna asked, in a low voice.

"In three weeks," Auntie Jo answered, making Bree’s jaw drop. She knew that her great-aunt had the money to schedule her corneal transplant surgery as soon as possible, but Jocasta was a stubborn woman and she only agreed to have the surgery done with  _ her _ ophthalmologist, who had taken the month off. “I wonder when things started to go wrong, sometimes. First, this”, she gestured at her face, clearly irritated, as if the illness was her fault. “And then, this”, she gestured to the empty room. “I'm sure Stephen will not be impressed.”

The name made Brianna shiver. She knew who Stephen Bonnet was, an art entrepreneur, and she had seen him a few times at events organized by Auntie Jo. But secretly, she doubted the man's character. She was afraid that Auntie Jo would put too much expectation on his work and he would turn out to be as corrupt as Bree suspected.

“It’s not fair!”, Auntie Jo vented with her. “A few years ago, this was crowded with young people your age. Sometimes, we couldn't even receive all the visitors on the day, and there would be lines outside.”

Bree sighed, feeling sad for her.

“These are phases, auntie,” she said. “At that time, it was fashionable for teenagers to take photos in galleries and museums and post them on Tumblr or Pinterest with Arctic Monkeys lyrics in the caption.”

“I feel like I have no idea what half of the words you just said mean”, Auntie Jo replied, frowning. “Why the devil would monkeys in the Arctic make music?”

That made Brianna laugh out loud.

“It's a band, auntie.”, she said, and Auntie Jo rolled her eyes as if she was mentally cursing whoever had chosen that name. “Look, I don't want to give you false hopes, but I think I have good news. Yesterday I met a guy on the subway. His name is John Grey, he is British…”

“And you think that's a good thing?”, Auntie Jo interrupted, startled. Bree held back the urge to laugh.

“... and he's an artist. Auntie, he drew me in minutes and the result was incredible. I have never met anyone with that skill... he is very talented, and I think he may be the person you are looking for.”

She knew that Auntie Jo trusted her judgment, and she could see in the eyes of the older woman that her mind was working at full speed.

“If he's as good as you say”, said her aunt, taking some of the gelato with the plastic spoon. “Then I want to meet him in person.”

…

John Grey didn't show up the next morning.

Brianna had gotten up earlier than usual to get ready, just so they wouldn't have to talk in a hurry. She had purposely chosen a pair of pants that, according to Lizzie, made her ass look great, combining it with one of her favorite blouses. At first she felt bad about wanting to look attractive, but that feeling only lasted for a few minutes. Then, to put the cherry on top, she applied a red lipstick that she reserved for special occasions only.

And he didn't show up.

At first she thought that maybe he was going to arrive at the same time as always and it was her own fault that she’d have to wait  – and a dirty and stuffy subway station, on a hot day like that, was not the best place to spend time. She resisted the urge to send him a text, because she didn't want to be the first one to do it, even if it was ridiculous and somewhat old-fashioned thought. When she realized that she was just wasting her time there and that he  _ really  _ wasn't going to show up, she wanted to send him a text again, an unrestrained one, saying that telling her he couldn’t make it would be the least he could do. Well, she was right (as usual). No one could be that perfect. Maybe he was an idiot.

_ Maybe he had an emergency and didn't have time to warn her. _

Maybe he was an jerk that broke his promises.

_ Maybe he had an accident and died. _

Heavens! She got into the train as soon as it arrived, just to stop thinking, and tried to see the positive side of things. At least she had spent time there, at the station, and hadn't gone straight to the office and ended up spending more time there than necessary. Comparing the filthy New York subway and Elijah's company, she thought the second option would be the most likely for growing a third eye because of how toxic it was.

Starting the day already being disappointed was not a good omen – she should have predicted that absolutely everything would make her angry at the rest of it. Before finishing her shift, she texted her groupchat with Lizzie and Marsali. The group's name was Central Perk  –  Lizzie said she was the Phoebe and Marsali was the Monica of the relationship. Brianna had always felt like a Chandler ( _ "I’m not great with advice. Can I interest you in a sarcastic comment?" _ ), but the girls forced her to be Rachel.

"Think about it: rich and spoiled girl decides to seek her independence in New York and dates a douchebag!", Lizzie explained. At that point in their friendship, Bree didn't even try to convince her or Marsali to like Roger, since he didn't even try to do it himself.

**How do you guys feel about a sleepover today?** , she sent.

The answers arrived less than a minute later.

**Lizzie: thought you’d never ask**

**Mars: i’ll take the popcorn and the chocolate**

…

“Bree, the popcorn!”, Lizzie shouted from the couch, waiting for her to come back so they could start watching the movie.

“It's still popping!”, Bree shouted back. Those two were ungrateful brats: she offered them her apartment and  _ she _ was the one who had to make the popcorn? She was stupid for believing when they said "she made the best popcorn" with those puppy faces, but she also knew she would do anything for them.

Her cellphone beeped on the counter and Brianna moved away from the stove. Seeing John's name in the notification, she was sure she had turned paler.

She took a step back. She thought of ignoring him, just as he had done with her in the morning. But her curiosity would kill her if she didn't found out what he wanted.

When she unlocked her phone and opened the message, she saw a picture. It was a drawing and, she realized seconds later with a racing heart, it was  _ her _ . This time, it was her back, while she was entering the subway train. It was not as good as the portrait of her he had done before – it was much better. It was noticeable that he had devoted much more time to this one, and his techniques for realistic drawing surprised her even more. Then he sent her a text:

**I’m waiting for your judgement…**

Bree was, of course, flattered. She wasn't used to being anyone's muse, except for Roger and some of his failed attempts at writing songs that made her feel lame. She typed without thinking:

**I'm surprised that you remember what a train looks like so clearly, since you haven't seen one today.**

Okay, that turned out way more passive-aggressive than she expected, so she immediately added:

**Hahahahahaha kidding. It's beautiful!!!**

Bree thought that if she had added another "ha" or another exclamation point, she might look like a dumbass. John's reply arrived quickly:

**Brianna, I'm so, so sorry for this. When we agreed to meet, I had completely forgotten that I had an appointment this morning, and I barely had time to pick up my cellphone until now. I was wondering how I could talk to you and ask for your forgiveness for being an asshole. I will completely understand if you never want to talk to me again.**

She didn't need to see the person's face  – she knew exactly when they were being dramatic over text. After all, she was a master on this.

**It's cool.** (smile emoji but not so happy)  **Again, congratulations on the drawing. I told my aunt about you and I have a good feeling. Can we meet somewhere other than the subway? Clean and outdoors, preferably?**

She left her cellphone back on the counter to fill the popcorn bucket. She held it in one hand and her cellphone in the other when she returned to the living room to the girls, and the phone announced a new message.

**It depends. Will Roger be with you?**

This made her chuckle and Lizzie and Marsali, at the same time, looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“Who are you talking to?”, Marsali wanted to know, right away.

“Is it John?”, Lizzie guessed. “John Grey? OMG, you're blushing! It's him!”

Marsali started shooting a lot of questions about who John was and Lizzie started to answer them, referring to him as the “subway hot guy” while Brianna suddenly felt like she wanted to die. Lizzie took out her own cell phone and showed Marsali John's Instagram  – which she had started to follow.

“Holy crap, Lizzie!”, Brianna exclaimed.

“You said  _ you  _ couldn't follow him because you would look desperate, not me.”

“Didn't you think he can go on your profile and see our pictures together?”, Bree said, exasperated.

"Don't worry, my angel", Lizzie replied, then straightened up and looked at Bree with half-closed eyes in a failed attempt to make a sexy face. “Mr. Grey will see you now.”

Oh, sure. It took her long enough to start with the Fifty Shades of Grey jokes

While Marsali burst out laughing, Brianna took a deep breath and answered John's text.

**I promise Roger won’t be there. Are you free tomorrow, around 10 am? At Central Park?**

“Even his last name says that this is the perfect opportunity for you to finally not be a virgin anymore.”, Lizzie said.

Marsali choked on the soda, placing her hand over her mouth before swallowing.

“You’re a  _ what _ ?”

Brianna rolled her eyes.

“I'm a virgin, not an alien. You don't have to look at me like I'm a freak,” she snapped, annoyed. “A lot of people don't have sex with anyone either.”

“I know, but you are not  _ a lot of people _ ,” Marsali replied, still with wide eyes. “I already knew that you didn’t have sex with Roger, the fact that you never had sex at all is what surprised me.” Then, she had a spasm as if she had a chill and looked like she was going to throw up. “Ew, imagine having sex with Roger. He must look like a drain full of hair.”

It was Lizzie's turn to scream and laugh, and Brianna glanced at the phone, furious, to read John's message:

**Meet you at Bethesda Fountain.**

...

Brianna wondered how John knew  – all right, he didn't know, it had just been a big coincidence  – that Bethesda Terrace was her favorite place in Central Park. However, there was one thing he  _ definitely  _ didn't know and she intended to leave it that way for a long time: she not only lived "close" to the 86th Street station, her apartment was literally in that street, between Columbus Ave and Eighth Ave  – that is, she also lived just a few steps away from Central Park.

People tended to think she was just another futile rich brat when she mentioned that she lived in one of the most expensive regions of the island. Because people, of course, didn’t know that the owner of the place was, in fact, her widowed rich great-aunt.

Maybe John was rich, she thought. He didn't say what commitment he had, it could be anything from work to a girlfriend. If it were the first option, he could  _ also  _ be an artist just as a hobby. If it were the second, he was just as bad as Brianna.

Either way, he was weird.

She sat on the bench that surrounded the fountain, facing the Terrace. She had arrived a lot of minutes before ten, just to enjoy the beautiful and pleasant day. It was early September, which meant that the city was no longer so crowded with tourists, it was warm enough that she didn't need a coat and cool enough that she didn't have to be almost naked on the street. The leaves of the trees in Central Park were beginning to turn orange. Fall was Bree's favorite season, and she couldn't wait for it to start.

She was looking at the copper pennies thrown on the fountain  – she had already thrown some there, and the strangest thing was that the wishes had come true, even if it was more out of her own effort than superstition  – when she heard someone cleaning their throat behind her. Bree would have let out a sigh, but she was smarter than that.

If she already thought John Grey was handsome, she had no idea how he looked even better in the sunlight.

“Hi,” she said, kind of coldly, not sure how she should react.

“Hi,” he replied, in a much more friendly way, and shook his head as if inviting her to stand up. “What do you think about walking around the park a little?”

She agreed and got to her feet immediately.

The two of them walked side by side without saying a single word for minutes, and when she started to feel uncomfortable and decided to open her mouth, he did the same thing at exactly the same time. They both laughed.

"You first," she asked.

“I was thinking... you said you were an artist as a  _ hobby _ ,” he said, with an emphasis on the last word. “So what are you really? What do you do for a living?”

“I'm an engineer,” she said casually. “I work with mechatronics, artificial intelligence and nanotechnology.”

John Grey looked at her as if she had just slapped him in the face.

“What?”, Bree laughed. 21st century and men were still surprised by women in science, she was already used to it. “I promise it's more exciting than it sounds. But we are not here to talk about my work, but yours!”, she sounded more excited than she should have. 

His smile, as bright as the sun, disappeared. His expression seemed to suddenly get darker, which made Brianna frown. Did he think she had made him go there to give him bad news?

“Actually... there is something I would like to tell you.”, John said.

" _ Je suis prest, _ " she replied. He looked at her with a funny face, making her laugh. “My Da... I mean, my dad is Scottish. We come from a family that was an ancient Highland clan, and although my surname is spelled F-R-A-S-E-R, it literally comes from  _ fraisier _ , strawberry in French, and the family's motto means “I'm ready”. I don't know why, honestly, maybe the guy was ready to sell a lot of strawberries that day and…”, she realized what she was doing: Brianna would start babbling or go completely silent when she was nervous. She interrupted herself for a moment and continued, "Sorry for the bunch of completely unnecessary information. What did you want to talk about?”

John was looking at her with a wry half smile, the kind that made her want to punch him because he was so gorgeous, as if he had  _ actually  _ found what she said interesting. But then... the smile was gone. Again.

"I thought better of it," he began, his voice sounding too formal, too weird. She knew enough about body language to notice that he had become  _ completely  _ tense. “And... I don't think this is for me.”

“What's not for you?”, she asked, not following what he was trying to say. “I talked to my aunt. She wants to meet you in person, and I'm sure she will love…”

"Brianna," he interrupted her and stopping walking. His gaze seemed harder now, and his tone more serious. “I thank you for talking to her about me, and for the opportunity, but I’ll have to refuse.”

I’ll have to refuse.

Artist refuses the opportunity to work with Jocasta Cameron. It was the kind of thing so stupid and absurd that she needed to say it out loud to try to believe it.

“ _ I’ll have to refuse? _ ”, she repeated. When Brianna was angry, she used to do things she normally wouldn't do, such as being petty. And John Grey was making her angry. "Ah, right," she said wryly, and let out a dry laugh. "I think I got it all wrong."

"It's not what you think...", he started to say, this time in a softer tone, and she saw the clear regret in his blue eyes. Well, his problem. She didn't care anymore.

“If you change your mind…”, she said, feeling a bad taste in her mouth, and then rolled her eyes. “Wait. You're not going, are you?”, Bree didn't wait for him to answer and kept talking. “You know what? If you know someone who’d appreciates the opportunity, you can call me again. Otherwise, you don't have to waste your time.”

“Brianna.”

“Excuse me,” she said. “I need to go see my aunt.”

And before he said her name again with that accent, possibly convincing her to change her mind, she turned around and started walking in the opposite direction. She didn't know what the future of River Run Gallery would be, but she couldn't let Grandma Ellen and Auntie Jo's dream die – or worse, end up in the hands of someone like Stephen Bonnet. Brianna didn't know what she was going to do, but it was time to start thinking.

She thought John Grey might be the solution to that problem, but she realized that John Grey was probably not at all what she had imagined.

Because no one could be that perfect.

  
  
  



	5. 4. FRIENDS

**JOHN**

It had been over a week since Brianna Fraser had turned her back on him and disappeared like a redheaded hurricane. She was furious; the red face, the murderous look, the marked jaw and clenched fists made it very clear how well she had received the news that he could not meet Jocasta Cameron. John was also furious, of course. This was an immeasurable opportunity and he had to let it slip through his fingers. He hated himself for letting his situation reach such an irreversible level that he couldn't accept the job offer of his dreams without suffering consequences. He was furious with Brianna, for letting him hope for something he couldn't have. He hated Denny for opening his eyes and making him realize how risky it was.

"You can't take that job," Denny had said, when John came home that afternoon after meeting Brianna and Roger Wakefield. The impact of those words made him look up, astonished. “You know that, right?”

“She just wants to meet me and, since we're talking about it, why not?”, John asked, putting aside the reheated pizza slice to face his best friend.

“That wasn't the plan, John.”

“Screw the plan," he replied indignantly. “This is the opportunity I've been waiting for!”

“I understand, I swear I do. But the plan was to find a good sponsor so that you could build your career little by little, and then find a way out of the mess you got yourself into.”

John looked at his friend as if he had a third eye and a pair of horns.

“Denny, you don't understand the extent of this opportunity.”

“Yes, I do. And that is why you cannot accept it.”

“Denzell...”John's tone changed, his voice hoarse with irritation.

"John," Denny interrupted, without being intimidated. “A good sponsor would be able to take you to the top with hard work and determination, giving you enough time to fix your life.” Willie barked somewhere in the tiny apartment, but none of them even blinked. “Everyone knows that Jocasta Cameron owns one of the biggest galleries in New York, don't you realize the danger of that reputation?”

"I'm sure you will explain it to me," John muttered, leaning back on the couch and crossing his arms, balancing the plate with the pizza on his knee.

"Oh, I will." Denny leaned forward, propping his elbows defiantly on his knees. “If your goddamn rotten brain cells can't understand the risk that working with someone as famous as she brings, I insist on explaining in a way that even  _ you  _ can understand.”

_ Little bastard _ , John thought.

“If Jocasta-owner-of-New-York-Cameron offers you a job, people will learn your name and, while it may seem tempting and exactly everything you've always dreamed of, we need to remember that there are things about you that must stay buried,” if Denny saw John's shoulders tighten, he ignored it. “You could be deported, John. I'm forced to admit that the prospect of having this whole apartment to myself sounds pretty tempting, but you're my best friend, damn it.”

"Maybe no one will find out," murmured John, disbelieving his own argument. Nothing could stay hidden for a long time when you were in the media.

“Even if it happened by a miracle, would you be able to live your whole life waiting for the police to knock on your door?”

John's routine changed too much for the meaning of the word to remain unscathed. On Monday and Friday mornings he took Mrs. Figg’s dogs for a walk, returning home with a smell that seemed to drive Willie crazy – whether it made the dog mad or horny, John didn't want to know. On the other mornings, he spent a lot of time on the subway and in parks, trying to get people to stop their busy lives to let him draw them. He never charged for the sketches, he just wanted the opportunity to show his talent and practice as much as possible to perfect his line. Some people, like Brianna Fraser, were so mesmerized by the portraits he made that they offered to pay for the service.

In the afternoons, he used to do minor maintenance on the apartments that needed repairs. John was no expert, but over time, YouTube tutorials and many catastrophes, he had learned to unclog sinks, change shower strength, and even pull a cat out of a couch. When he was not acting as a handyman, he taught drawing classes to children with mobility difficulties at a community center in Brooklyn. At night, at least three times a week, John worked at a karaoke bar in Hell’s Kitchen.

Money was not plentiful, not at all, but he was able to help Denny with the rent for the apartment they shared and the monthly purchases. Caring for Willie was expensive and they were lucky that Mrs. Figg’s son was a veterinarian who didn't mind doing favors for his mother's favorite neighbors.

The week passed without him having time to think about Brianna during his many activities, but when he was getting ready to sleep, the guilt seemed to settle in the pit of his stomach, making him turn over and over on the couch, unable to find some position that would take away his discomfort. They were not friends, he had to remember. So why did he feel like he had let her down?

"Taylor Swift was right," John murmured, hunting the phone blindly. New York never slept and he, apparently, would also not be able to find peace if he did not try to explain himself to that strong-willed stranger. “A nightmare dressed like a daydream.”

When he finally finished typing the message – which he had rewritten at least thirteen times – it was after two-thirty in the morning. His eyes were tired, but he didn't want to get up to look for his glasses. The yellow street lights allowed him to see only the outline of things in the gloom and he stared into the dark for several minutes before he mustered up the courage to click the send button.

**I thought over and over again how ridiculous it is to feel guilty for making you angry. We don't know each other, (We only met what? Three times?) but I feel I owe you an explanation. This is kind of pathetic, you know? I shouldn't feel like I owe you anything, just as I don't expect you to feel that you owe me an answer too. The truth, Brianna, is that I thought you were amazing. It's easy to talk to you, you're smart, interesting and (sorry if I'm being too sincere) hot as fuck. Thank you very much for speaking with your aunt, but I had my reasons for declining the invitation. If my situation were any different, I would have kissed you (sorry, Roger) at that very moment when you told me that Jocasta Cameron wanted to meet me. However, I cannot change certain things... yet. I don't want you to think I'm an ungrateful son of a bitch, that's all. I have a lot of loose ends in my life lately and I don't want you to be one of them, so I hope you will forgive me.**

**I don't expect us to be friends because, as I said, we don't know each other, but I would like you to forgive me. Anyway, I think I've already humiliated myself too much. I’m sorry.**

He rested the phone on his chest, sighing as he stretched. After a few minutes, he picked up the phone again and sent another message.

**P.S: I hope that this message and my boldness won’t cause any trouble between you and your boyfriend. But, if you happen to be reading this, Roger, I hope you know that I meant it up there :)**

Part of him knew she was probably asleep or maybe she didn't even want to answer it, and even then, the lack of response left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Brianna's silence lasted all morning and most of the afternoon, but John tried not to let it affect his day. He took advantage of the cool weather to cycle to Central Park with his backpack, notebooks and pencils, finding a bench under the trees where he could watch people and try to reproduce the universe as he saw it.

There was something about John's art and the way he refused to use any color in his drawings. This concept had also been passed on to his Instagram and even to his choice of clothing. It wasn't like he didn't like colors or that he thought it was his trademark and that he should keep the concept at all costs. He liked the truth behind black and white; the nuances of grey tones, the shadows and the points of light, the way people seemed infinitely more true in black and white. It didn't matter the color of your clothes, your hair, your eyes, your skin. He saw everyone through the same lens and that was what he liked most about his art.

"You are very talented," said a female voice to his right, making him look up from the melancholy landscape he drew. “Although I think today is a little sunnier than in your drawing.”

“The good thing about recreating the world is that you have a poetic license to reimagine things the way you want”, he replied, smiling.

The girl was beautiful. Her blond hair was tied in a messy ponytail, with golden streaks framing her delicate face. She was several inches shorter than he was, but she behaved like someone quite determined. Her eyes were light brown, almost amber, and she wore leggings, running shoes and a large T-shirt with the words “The Mortal Instruments” tied so that her belly was exposed. John was used to analyzing people's faces, so he had no difficulty noticing the change in her eyes when he answered her. He, of course, was used to the impact of his accent, even though he believed the British accent hype was long gone.

"I would love to be able to reimagine certain things," she agreed, smiling too. She looked at his backpack briefly and then turned her attention to him. “Do you do this often? Recreate what's in front of you?”

John knew how to recognize genuine interest and a comment made just to flirt. At that moment, he didn't care.

"I like to admire beautiful things," he replied, turning the page of the notebook. “Mind if I...”

She tried to look surprised and embarrassed, but John was no fool.

The pencil moved quickly against the paper, tracing, contouring and reinforcing lines that came as naturally to him as breathing. The girl stood still while he worked and he let her watch him and measure every inch of him with her eyes, after all, he was doing the same for unprofessional reasons.

When he was finished, he turned the notebook towards her and waited patiently for a verdict. She barely looked at the drawing, just smiled and put her hand on her chest.

“My God! You are very good!”

He accepted the compliment.

"You made my job easy," he shrugged.

"My name is Katherine." She held out her hand and he squeezed it, letting his fingers slide through hers when he let her go. “You can call me Kat.”

"John," he replied, feeling his cell phone vibrate in his pocket.

He pulled the device out, without breaking eye contact.

"I was thinking about getting coffee," Kat began, quite suggestively.

John lifted the device and pressed the button, making his screen light up with two notifications from Brianna.

The first was an Instagram notification.  _ @breefraser followed you. _

The second made him smile.

**Yes, I would like us to be friends.**

“John?” Kat called, making him look up. “If you're busy, that's fine.”

"No," he said, closing the notebook and stuffing it into the backpack. “I'm dying to have some coffee.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. 5. BURN, BABY, BURN

**BRIANNA**

As she walked and hurried toward the park's closest exit to the Upper East Side, Brianna felt a mixture of feelings inside her that made her feel even worse about herself. When she was far enough away from John Grey for her emotions to return to normal – as much as possible – she immediately regretted having reacted that way. Bree used to stay cool and in control of her emotions, because she knew that if she wasn't careful enough, what she had just done could happen often: the mask of her coldness would fall, giving way to her angry temper and revealing the hot head she could be when she wanted to.

"It's your Fraser side”, Claire would say, laughing, if she could see her at that moment. "You can't control the fire for too long."

In fact, some circumstances caused her heated side to surface, but that should definitely not be the case. She had freaked out with a guy she barely knew and who – she couldn't lie to herself – she had liked to meet. The faster Bree walked, the more sorry she felt. It was not her place to say that he was wrong to refuse the opportunity to meet Auntie Jo, after all, she knew nothing about John's life. He should have his own reasons, good reasons, and she acted like a spoiled child when she was upset.

However, Brianna was too proud to admit it.

It was shameful and immature, but it was the truth. Too proud and stubborn to go back and try to reach out and apologize. Or to even tell him that through a text message. Maybe never seeing or talking to him again would become the consequence of her actions and her choices, and she would need to find a way to be okay with that. At that moment, the thought  _ hurt _ , even if it was ridiculous on her part.

The walk to Auntie Jo's home made her sweat a little and become slightly breathless when she reached the building. The penthouse where Jocasta lived was in the corner building on 69th Street and Madison Avenue and used to be a luxury hotel until it was converted into a condo in the 1940s.

“Morning, Bertie,” she greeted the doorman who was supposed to work on the building, at least, since its foundation. He was a lovely old man. “My aunt is waiting for me.”

This last part was not exactly true. She hadn't warned Auntie Jo that she was going to show up there.

"Go ahead, Miss Fraser." Bertie smiled at her, his teeth gleaming.

The two-floor penthouse where Aunt Jo had lived since she married Hector Cameron was, to put it mildly,  _ exaggerated _ . However, Brianna had to admit that her aunt had good taste – she was able to balance vintage and contemporary, art dèco and modernism. Of course, this was no surprise, since Aunt Jo was an artist, but Bree liked to pay attention to details, since every time she went there, there was something different about the place.

When the elevator doors opened, however, Brianna came across someone she didn't expect to see that day.

“Ulysses!”, she exclaimed, smiling, when she saw the man there.

Then she paid a little more attention.

Ulysses Joseph had been Aunt Jo's personal assistant for some years, but in the past few months, since her sight had worsened, he had started to spend more time with her, helping her. He was a very handsome and kind man, and Bree secretly thought that he and Aunt Jo would make a lovely couple, since he was divorced. But she knew that there were limits that even Aunt Jo would not cross, and Ulysses was extremely professional and friendly.

It was at least strange to see him wearing sweatpants and a gray sweat-stained shirt.

“Miss Bree!”, he said in the same surprised tone, although his eyes were a little wide. “I don't... I didn't know you would come here today.”

"And I didn't know you worked on Saturdays," she replied, laughing. “Isn’t Gwen here?” Aunt Jo's maids generally took on the role of caregivers when she was at home.

“Yes, she is. Sorry for not being presentable at all,” Ulysses said. “I was running through Central Park before I came, I haven't had time to change yet.”

“Really? I just came from there too!” Brianna said, smiling and looking him in the eye, as if she hadn't noticed seconds ago that he was wearing plain sandals instead of running shoes.

“Brianna,  _ a leannan _ ?” Jocasta's voice echoed from the top of the stairs and she looked up to see her aunt, who had started going down the steps of the spiral staircase.

“Auntie, wait!”

Jocasta stopped halfway, sighing dramatically.

“I'm not blind  _ yet _ .”

Bree didn't care about the complaint. She went up the steps after Ulysses had told her he was going to change and took her great-aunt by the arm, guiding her carefully and realizing that she was wearing only a black satin nightgown under her red robe.

“Were you asleep?” She asked.

“Of course not,” Jocasta replied. “But you took me by surprise.”

She led the older woman to the white couch in the living room, next to the sofa and armchairs with a coffee table in the middle.

“I thought about eating something, having brunch. Can Gwen make it?” Brianna suggested.

Jocasta looked at her with the explicit suspicion in her icy blue eyes.

“I know you didn't come here for brunch, so just tell me whatever happened. But, I swear to God, if that Roger asked you to marry him and you accepted, I make it very clear that you  _ don't _ have my blessing.”

Brianna rolled her eyes. By now she was sure that no one was on Team Roger but her own mother, which hurt her a little, but she swallowed that feeling along with several others. It made no difference anymore.

"That's not what happened, so consider yourself lucky," she replied dryly. Then she took a deep breath before continuing. “Do you remember the subway artist I told you about, John Grey? Well... he couldn't accept the opportunity to meet you. I don't know why, he just... rejected it.”

Auntie Jo was silent for a few minutes, studying Brianna. She might have had her sight impaired, but her hearing was good enough to hear Bree's tone faltering, and besides, she knew her great-niece. There were things that not even her ability to mask emotions could fool people who knew her well.

“And?” Said Auntie Jo at last, and Bree frowned. “I mean, it's a shame he refused. But it is not the first time that a professional passes a job opportunity. What worries me,  _ mo ghràidh _ , is that your tone sounds more like someone who has just been dumped. Do you... fancy this lad?”

"Don't be silly, Auntie," she said, rather harshly. It was her defense mechanism. “I only met him a few times, I don't know him. I am disappointed because I thought I had found a way to solve at least that problem.”

Jocasta smiled tenderly and reached out to touch Bree's cheek, caressing it there.

“You are just like Ellen, in every way. It’s almost scary,” she joked. “But I feel that you were the guardian angel that she sent me from above, to take care of me.”

Brianna felt the tears welling up in her eyes. It was hard not to get emotional about it, especially since Grandma Ellen had passed away while giving birth and Auntie Jo had never been able to have children.

"We'll find a way, Auntie," Bree promised, holding Jocasta's two hands. “Even if I do the next exhibition myself. Who needs to sleep? I can go to the gallery after I leave the office and…”

“Shhh,” Aunt Jo squeezed her hands softly “Don't worry. One day at a time. And, if I remember correctly, today is your day off. How about starting the brunch you wanted with some mimosas, huh?”

Bree laughed.

“It's just after ten in the morning, Auntie.”

“There is something you will learn when you are my age, my dear”, said Auntie Jo, straightening her posture and lifting her chin as if she were about to say something extremely serious. “Any time is a good time for mimosas.”

…

More than a week passed without her hearing from You-Know-Who ("Lord Voldemort?", Lizzie asked when Brianna had referred to John like that the first time), and she got the message when he didn't show up at the 86th Street station anymore. Well, in the end, she just blamed herself. He had the right to be upset by her overreaction, and Bree realized that John was going to join the list of _interesting-people-who-I-met-and-simply-never-spoke-to-again._

"Deal with it," she whispered to herself one day. It wasn't the end of the world, right?

And then, on such an ordinary morning that she could have sworn that nothing else was going to happen, she turned off her cell phone alarm and stretched out on the bed with the device in hand. It was her typical morning ritual – curling up in bed for a few minutes, checking social media and messages before finally getting up. There were notifications from Twitter and Instagram, messages from Roger, Marsali and John.

She blinked hard at the sight of his name, shocked, and sat on the bed so fast that her head spun. She tried to unlock her cell phone to read the entire message and felt like throwing it on the wall for not recognizing her fingerprint sooner. When she finally managed to open the message, she had to read the text over and over again until she could assimilate anything with her sleepy brain.

But the only parts that stuck to her head were:  _ The truth, Brianna, is that I thought you were amazing. It is easy to talk to you, you are smart, interesting and (sorry if I'm being too sincere) hot as fuck. _

_ If my situation had been different, I would have kissed you. _

_ I don't expect us to be friends because, as I said, we don't know each other, but I would like you to forgive me. _

Brianna thought of a swear-word. She thought of several, in fact, that would have made her mother proud and Sister Gerthrudes horrified.  _ What the fuck was going on? _

To say the least, his message (both, in fact) disturbed her. Obviously she didn't respond right away, mostly because she didn't even know how to respond – and making Brianna Fraser speechless was an unique and rare event.

"It's your Beauchamp side," Jamie would say to her, with a playful smirk. "You can't control your sharp tongue for long."

Despite being too proud for that most of the time, that was a situation that Bree  _ needed _ to ask someone for help. If she asked Lizzie, she would probably suggest that Brianna responded to the message with a nude. She decided she would talk to Marsali about it during lunch break.

Marsali, the ice queen, defender of  _ men-don’t-deserve-rights _ MacKimmie would know what to do.

… 

"You are tense," Lizzie observed. People who talk a lot are often said to be bad observers, but Lizzie didn't fit that rule.

Brianna looked away from the television and stared at her friend, who was beside her on the couch.

"No, I'm not," she replied.  _ Fake it until you make it. _

Of course she was tense. It was Friday night, which meant that the weekend was officially starting. And Roger didn't work on the weekends, so he usually spent Saturdays and Sundays with her if one of the two wasn't too busy.

At first it was just an annoying nuisance, like a splinter in your hand: you clearly don't want it there, but it won't kill you. However, after everything that had happened since that dinner with her parents, the discomfort increased every week until it was almost unbearable. He had already called hours ago to let her know they were going to have lunch together on Saturday. Since then, Bree couldn't help feeling extremely depressed, but she tried not to make it so explicit on her face. Perhaps her body had not received the memo.

"I know what you need," Lizzie started, and Bree was about to answer that she wouldn't take anything that involved drugs when Lizzie continued: "A guy at work mentioned this karaoke bar in Hell's Kitchen that gets packed on weekends . It's called Disco Inferno.”

Bree laughed.

“Burn, baby, burn”, she hummed. “Should I wear bell-bottoms and a rainbow print shirt?”

“I don't think it's  _ literally _ a disco themed bar,” Lizzie replied, laughing. “Maybe the name is just a tribute to the neighborhood. What do you think of going there?”

"There are about three hundred karaokes in Manhattan, Lizzie, maybe you should just go to a less crowded one in Koreatown," Bree sighed, turning her eyes to the television.

"No way," Lizzie said. "If any place is packed, I need to see why. It's my motto, you know.”

"I thought your motto was 'don't sleep with twins,'" Brianna said sarcastically, and pursed her lips. She knew that the story of Lizzie's first love, Josiah Beardsley, and that she wasn't sure if she had lost her virginity to him or his twin brother, Keziah, was something that made her furious whenever she or Marsali brought that story up.

Lizzie stood up and turned off the television.

“I'll pretend I didn't hear what you just said because we're going to get ready now.” She pulled Brianna by the hand with a force that even surprised her. “If I don't put a smile on that pretty face of yours by the end of the night, I won't be able to live with myself.”

Lizzie was right: despite the name, the karaoke bar didn't look like a disco, but rather a smaller version of Hard Rock Café inside. There were some people waiting outside, but Lizzie – as usual, Bree had already given up trying to figure out how she managed to do that and simply accepted it – managed to get them both in within minutes. As they walked with their arms clasped to an empty table in the corner, Brianna grimaced at the group of clearly stoned friends who sang  _ Killer Queen _ in the karaoke so badly that they would have made Freddie Mercury resurrect just to sue them.

“Will you sing?” Brianna asked, raising her voice so Lizzie could hear her over the music, while laughing.

“Of course! And you go with me”, she said.

“Yes, dream on”, Brianna rolled her eyes. “I try to avoid public humiliation as much as possible, thank you very much.”

"You're only saying that because you're sober," Lizzie complained, pouting.

“Whatever. Why don't you stay here guarding the table while I go get us some drinks, huh?” She raised her eyebrows and Lizzie shrugged before sitting down.

Brianna crossed the lounge towards the bar counter and, although the place was relatively dark beyond the stage lights, she couldn't help feeling a little self-conscious with the heads that turned in her direction to face her. It was Lizzie's fault, of course – she was not excited to go out, so her friend chose the outfit she was supposed to wear: a strap top, a black skirt that was a foot above her knees and black short boots with low heels, but that made her a few inches taller than she already was.

She leaned on the counter in the space between an empty bench and one occupied by a girl who was apparently alone to call the bartender.

“Excuse me,” she asked. “Two Cosmopolitans, please.”

“ _ Ohmygod _ ”, a high-pitched and almost whispered voice came from her side. Brianna pretended it wasn't with her, of course. It had happened before, to hear people talking about her; good, bad and disgusting things, but never a girl who sounded like she just saw her favorite celebrity. "Sorry, that must have seemed strange," she said, louder this time, and Brianna looked at her out of the corner of her eye with a frown. She just wanted to confirm that the owner of the child's voice was really old enough to be there legally “It’s just... wow. Your hair is beautiful. I used to be a redhead, you know? But it felt so artificial, I looked like a carrot. Anyway,” she laughed, as if she had just told a joke that Brianna didn't understand “I'm Kat. Katherine Howard.”

Brianna was not the type of girl to befriend other drunken girls in bar bathrooms – she didn't even have an easy time making friends under normal circumstances. That girl looked strangely excited, but not under the influence of alcohol. Maybe she was just needy.

“Bree”, she introduced herself, with a little smile. “Thank you for the compliment... er, your hair is also beautiful.”

She didn't know if it was because of the lighting in the place – or if that was really her natural color – but Kat's hair was a strange shade of blond, a little too yellow. Brianna quickly realized that Kat reminded her of a Polly Pocket doll, with her small, thin body looking out of proportion to the size of her head and her big, round eyes.

“Are you alone? Do you want to sit here?” Kat offered quickly. She knew the girl was just being nice, but Brianna was starting to feel uncomfortable. “I'm alone. I mean, not entirely. My boyfriend works here, and I'm waiting for his shift to end. Actually, he's not  _ really _ my boyfriend yet, but I'm sure we're almost there. We connected, you know?”

Brianna forced a smile when the bartender handed her the two glasses of Cosmopolitan.

“I'm with a friend, sorry. But... good luck with everything and with your future boyfriend, yes?” she wished, saying goodbye to the weird girl before returning to her table.

Lizzie had ordered a plate of nachos with guacamole and smiled broadly when Bree appeared.

"I swear on my mom and my Louis Vuitton bag that this bar has the hottest waiters I've ever seen in my life," Lizzie said. Brianna held her laugh as she took a sip from the Cosmo.

“If you say so.”

The hours passed and Brianna needed to admit, she was having fun. Every time a new person came up on the karaoke stage, she and Lizzie wondered if finally someone with talent would show up there, and surprisingly the level was just going downhill. Either way, whether it was because of the drinks or because they were really happy, Bree and Lizzie always screamed and applauded after the performance, no matter how disastrous it had been.

“Right,” Lizzie said hours later, giving a little punch on the table “I will sing there, even if you don't want to go with me, and I will dedicate the song to you.  _ Fergalicious _ or  _ Hollaback Girl _ ?”

“ _ Hollaback Girl _ ” Brianna replied, laughing. “But wait! I need to pee and I don't want to miss this iconic moment.”

She got up and asked one of the waiters where the restrooms were. He indicated with his hand the left corner of the back, where she could see a narrow, poorly lit hallway. Brianna was really surprised when she entered the hall, walking towards the bathroom doors at the end of it. She was already used to small spaces in New York, but the width of that corridor couldn't have been more than two feet. She almost felt claustrophobic with her shoulders and wide hips passing over there, and the low roof height of that space didn't help at all.

Upon hearing the sound of one of the doors opening, she immediately thought "shit, it will be even worse to try to pass with someone else coming" when the voice made her feel that all the blood had left her face.

“Brianna.”

She was starting to get mad at the way he said her name – Bri- _ ah _ -nna – and how much better it sounded than the way everyone else said it. John was dressed completely in black and his wide eyes should mimic the same expression that Bree had on her face.

“Hi!” She said, a little too loudly, with an extremely uncomfortable smile.

_ "Do you think I should explain myself and apologize too?", She had asked Marsali, in the office, just hours ago. _

_ "Of course not," Marsali had responded immediately. “You can't trust a man just because he seems cool, Bree. Keep it short and sweet - straight to the point. And if you want to be friendly, I don't know, follow him on Instagram just so it doesn’t seem that you're too unreachable. ” _

Obviously, Marsali had not anticipated that the two of them would be trapped in a hallway so narrow that Brianna was beginning to feel short of breath.

"I need to..." he started, pointing to the outside. It didn't take more than a few seconds for her to understand: he was dressed like all the other bartenders. John apparently worked there.

"Oh," Brianna said, simply, and shook her head to agree. She was too far away to return. “Well...” she turned on her side, standing against the wall to give him room to pass.

It seemed to be the smartest thing to do at that time – she wouldn't be coming back, and if he didn't want to go into the bathroom again, it was the only option he had left. Brianna hadn't thought that John was as tall as she was and that he was also strong. She stared at his arms and his defined torso marked by the T-shirt for longer than she should have before turning her eyes to the floor, mortified.

John raised an eyebrow and took a few more steps forward until he was close enough to Bree to turn his back to the opposite wall. She looked up at him and bit the inside of her cheek, holding her breath when he started to pass. It was inevitable that some parts of his body would rub against hers.

Brianna was a controller by nature – and right now she was hating not being in control of what her body was feeling when John Grey practically rubbed himself against her. The small heels of her boots made her almost the same height as him, and she took a deep breath, smelling the soap mixed with something more citrus and a woody scent. By God, he was so close that she could feel his breath mixing with hers.

Brianna's entire body was stiff. It lasted a few seconds, a few seconds that seemed like an eternity. And it seemed to take even longer when he purposely held her gaze, staring at her so deeply that she felt completely exposed, as if she were naked in front of him. They hadn't had any other interactions since the last text message she sent saying that they could be friends and some likes on Instagram, and Bree was finding that huge sexual tension that made her feel like her whole body was on fire from the tiptoes to the top of her head was a bad start to their friendship.

"That was a surprise," he said, after passing her, turning around in the hall. She still had her back against the wall, thinking she had lost her ability to think after what had just happened.

“Yes.” She replied, and tried to smile in the most natural way she could. “See you around, then?”

He pursed his lips before shaking his head.

“See you.”

As soon as John Grey was far enough from that creepy hallway, she ran to the restroom and the first thing she did was splash some cold water on her face. Lucky for her, her makeup was waterproof, but even that wasn't enough to relieve the feverish feeling that burned inside.

When Bree returned to the bar's main lounge, she realized with a surprise that Lizzie hadn't waited for her and was already on stage, talking and gesturing to one of the staff, perhaps telling him what song she wanted.

“I want to dedicate this song to my best friend, Brianna Fraser”, she announced, clearly drunk and staggering slightly on stage. “She is...” Lizzie looked around, searching for her and with her index finger raised, ready to point. “Well, she must be here, because nobody takes that long to pee.”

Brianna closed her eyes and froze in place.  _ How much humiliation could a person go through in one day? _

She walked back to their table when Lizzie started singing, stopping halfway when she heard the voice of the girl she had met earlier, Kat, calling out to her.

“Bree!”

She turned around because she didn't want to be rude and maybe the girl wanted to say goodbye. However, the sight Bree came across was  _ another _ surprise.

Kat was practically hanging on John, with her arms around his neck, since he was several inches taller than her. She waved at Bree with a smile so wide that she wondered if the girl's cheeks were hurting, and then Brianna understood that she was showing off John, her  _ non-boyfriend-but-almost _ , because he was handsome and she could do that.

She couldn't identify what John's expression meant when she turned to them, almost as if he were a blank canvas. But she knew very well what the little smile on her own face and her raised eyebrows meant.

"Your mocking face is even worse than your angry face," Marsali once said. "It makes people feel stupid."

Bree smirked at Kat before giving John one last, brief look as if to say  _ is real-life Polly Pocket your type? I thought you had better taste. _

She marched to her table, suddenly feeling much more confident as Lizzie sang Gwen Stefani's iconic song. This shit is bananas, indeed.

…

Brianna often prided herself on being a person with a strong personality, someone for whom no one told her what to do, who did nothing that she didn't feel like. However, at the same time and with the same frequency, she hated herself for feeling cowardly and hypocritical for not having had the courage to break up with Roger since when her mother, the woman with the marriage she considered her relationship goal, had approved him.

Okay, Roger wasn't the worst person in the world, and Saturday was not too bad. Brianna convinced him to go to lunch at a Mediterranean restaurant near Central Park – it was definitely easier to be around him when they were surrounded by other people. Then she dragged him to the Met – obviously she had visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art more times than she could remember, but the bright side was that there was always something new to see, and the museum was so big that she could spend hours there, getting lost in the wings.

And of course, the longer they were there, the less time she would need to be alone with Roger.

The sun was setting when they left the Met, walking down the huge staircase hand in hand. She wanted to let go, but that would make it obvious how she was feeling. In fact – wasn't it already obvious? Brianna wondered if Roger just didn't know her well enough, if he was too stupid to notice or smart enough to pretend he didn't understand anything. If it were the last option, she didn't understand why he couldn't just break up with her.  _ Why would you want to be with me if you know I don't want to be with you? _ She wanted to scream.

Roger decided that they were going to watch some episodes of Friends to end the night – she knew he didn't like the show very much ("overrated", she had heard him say once, and practically considered it a personal offense), but it was a favorite of Bree. He wanted to please her for some reason.

She was trying her best to look relaxed.  _ This is my couch, this is my home. I won't be intimidated by him _ , she repeated in her mind, keeping her eyes fixed on the television, even though Roger's arm around her shoulders bothered her.

"Did you hear from the guy at the station, that... John?" Roger asked, casually. Brianna controlled the urge to laugh. At least he was smart enough to identify a threat, and his insecurity was tangible.

“Yes, we talked a few times.” Bree replied. “He won't be able to work for Auntie Jo. In fact, Lizzie and I met him yesterday at a karaoke bar in Hell's Kitchen, he was with his girlfriend,” she just said the latter information so that the universe could see how much of a charitable soul she was, contributing to Roger not feeling so intimidated by John.

In fact, knowing he had a girlfriend seemed to make Roger super happy. He even laughed at Chandler's joke in the episode, along with the audience's recorded laugh.

“You didn't tell me you went to a bar with Lizzie yesterday.”

“Oh, sorry. Do you want to have access to my schedule now?” Brianna countered, sounding as annoyed as she was feeling.

Roger sighed heavily.

"That's not what I meant, Bree," he said. Seeing that Brianna didn't respond, he continued: “John seems to be a nice guy. Why don't we invite him and his girlfriend for a double date?”

"Don't be ridiculous," she replied immediately. She would have felt guilty if the thought of going on a double date with Roger, John and Katherine had not been so absurd. “I barely know him.”

Roger didn't seem to want to argue. Instead, he did exactly the worst thing he could do at that moment: he got closer to Bree’s face and kissed her on the cheek, running his lips down her jaw and neck.

There was something about Roger's beard brushing her neck that made Bree itch and made her desperately want to take a shower. She closed her eyes, making a face of discomfort, since he was too busy with his face buried in her neck to see.

"Roger, it's late," she said, distressed, watching the clock above the television. It wasn't  _ that _ late, but she needed to stop him. She needed to send him away.

"I was thinking of spending the night here," he murmured against her skin, making her heart race and she felt the sweat clinging to her hair on the back of her neck. But she wasn't turned on – she was about to have a panic attack.

She tried to put up with it until he got tired and gave up when he saw that she wasn't giving back, but instead, he put his hand on her breast – and Bree slapped it away immediately.

"Roger, you better go," she said, barely recognizing her tone. She didn't know that level of anger. “ _ Now _ ”.

He obeyed. He turned away from her and immediately stood up, the disappointment clear in his eyes. Roger started to walk to the door and stopped halfway. He turned to her, and she saw his mouth opening, but he closed it right after, as if he had changed his mind, and left in silence.

Brianna also got up when she was alone, to lock the door, and felt a painful urge to cry when she turned the key. Once again she wanted to cry because of Roger. And again, she wouldn't allow it. Instead, she took out her cell phone and called the first person who could bring her some comfort – someone who had sent her nightmares away for a long time.

It took a few seconds for him to answer.

“ _ Ma sœur?” _ He asked, and his voice speaking French was as comforting as a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows made by Mama in the winter.

"Hi, Fergus," she said, her voice breaking. "I missed you."


	7. 6. HARMLESSLY FLIRTING

**JOHN**

It wasn't as if John had decided to take a walk through SoHo on purpose. It was Saturday morning and the day was so pleasantly cool that he had decided to use the bicycle that he and Denny had bought in the summer of the previous year to enjoy the outdoors. The sun was already high in the sky, emanating light and heat throughout the city evenly. Despite this, the cool breeze made the ride much more pleasant, even if the cacophony of cars, horns, angry shouts from drivers, jackhammers and uninterrupted buildings was the soundtrack that packed the routine of New Yorkers and tourists. Despite all that chaos, he was in love with that city.

John saw several other people, including entire families, taking advantage of the weekend and the weather to do outdoor activities or relax in the best way they knew: shopping. He had been cycling for at least an hour and a half when he realized where he was and what building was right in front of him: imposing and rough-edged, River Run Gallery jutted out like a gray box full of windows, shining with the brightness and warmth of the sun.

The building itself was quite minimalist and, perhaps because of that, exuded that aura of power and wealth that matched the photos he had seen on social media. The architect who designed the gallery had a goal, and by comparing that building with the others around him, he could understand why. SoHo was a refined neighborhood, everyone knew that. There were designer boutiques scattered on all sides, as well as other art galleries as sophisticated as the cast iron facades and cobbled streets. Restaurants – whose meal price would pay for a month's rent for the apartment he and Denny lived in – also periodically spread throughout the neighborhood. Even with so many different architectural manifestations, the buildings there were the same and of a very predictable beauty. River Run Gallery had been designed to stand out and not to blend in.

That was probably not the healthiest of habits, but there, facing what could have been the future he had always dreamed of long before leaving London to move to New York, he didn't care. John used to make stupid decisions – like the one that kept him in the United States, for example – and was aware that his habit of fantasizing how his story would play out if he had done something different was something he should deal with a therapist. Still, he parked his old, rusty bicycle along with several others in front of a restaurant in Chinatown and secured it with a loose chain he had bought online. Maybe, if he was lucky, someone would steal that old thing and he could finally free up the space behind the door.

He went back to the gallery on foot, feeling extremely out of place with his shabby cap and sneakers, shorts and blue shirt full of sweat stains, while everyone around him seemed to have come out of a magazine with the latest trends for the summer. A few pairs of eyes turned towards him and he saw a few frowns of disapproval, but he was too focused on hating River Run Gallery to make him feel a little better for being a failure with no chance of significant improvement.

He hadn't brought his cell phone and didn't have a watch, but with the sun making his shadow perfectly under him and with the volume of people in the restaurants, John deduced that it was already lunchtime. His stomach agreed with a grunt he ignored, climbing the few steps that led to the immaculate entrance to the gallery. The doors were ajar and for a moment he wondered if he really wanted to do that. Perhaps it was time to get rid of destructive habits.

“Maybe next time?” He murmured to himself, taking a step towards the future that he could not have.

…

The first thing that John realized was that he had made a big mistake. In the first five minutes wandering the halls, full of pictures, photographs and sculptures by artists he knew and admired, he realized how much he wished to be among those works. He felt his anger turn over his empty stomach with much more intensity than when Denny had made him refuse Brianna Fraser's proposal. Why? Why can't I have a little joy in this life?, he thought, sounding dramatic even by his standards.

The gallery's interior was surprisingly airy and well lit. The polished wooden floor was clear and reflected a little of the lighting that came in through the windows, making all the rooms shine. He recognized big names like Philip-Lorca DiCorcia, Kenny Harris, Cindy Sherman and even Elizabeth Murray and his skin seemed to tingle just from being in the same room as the works of those art geniuses.

The second thing he noticed was that the gallery was suffocatingly empty. God, don't let me have broken into a building like this. But he couldn't have invaded, could he? The door was open, for heaven’s sake! With the back of his hand, John wiped the sweat off his forehead and tried to control his desperate heartbeat. Had someone broken into the gallery and the police were on their way?

"Story of my life," he muttered, turning on his heel to find his way out. “Three years living in this bloody country illegally and that's how I'm going to end up in prison.”

_ Curiosity got the loser arrested. _

River Run Gallery had at least four floors and he managed to get lost in all of them while looking for the next flight of stairs that would take him to the street. Why the hell had no one thought of making one staircase that led to all floors? Rich people had a terrible habit of making things difficult just to make up for the lack of real problems in their lives.

He was looking for the staircase that would take him from the second to the first floor when he heard Brianna's voice and froze in place, not knowing whether to run or have a panic attack right there. What would she think if she saw him there? It had been a week since they met at the karaoke he worked at, in Hell's Kitchen, and since then they had been exchanging texts every day in an attempt to maintain that friendship – he tried not to flirt with her, because he knew it was right the thing to do, but Brianna, despite not flirting back, did not discourage him.

She was singing and, perhaps because of that, he could not resist the temptation to approach. The door was ajar and he noticed a sign with the names "MacKenzie-Fraser" written in industrialized cursive. There was no description of what he would find on the other side of that door, but he could see the red hair in a bun that exposed the back of her slender white neck. Brianna had her back to the door, moving from side to side in a carefree dance as she slid the brush over the canvas with almost surgical precision. He saw the AirPods, but he didn't even need to see them to hear the loud sound about to pop her eardrums. So Brianna Fraser was the type who liked to create while listening to music.

John remembered that night at the karaoke and how he wished to see her go up on stage to sing. He also remembered the slight irritation he felt when he imagined her receiving compliments from other people. My God, if anyone even knew he felt that way he would probably end up “canceled” like the celebrities that Rachel Hunter cursed in her Twitter posts.

He knew he was an unwanted  _ voyeur  _ and that he should get out before she realized he was there, but he couldn't. He recognized, after a while, the song she was listening to and felt obliged to agree with the words she sang. Brianna Fraser was, in fact, magnetic. She was also a great artist. He did not recognize the woman she painted, but he was amazed at how the strokes seemed to give life to the portrait, made without hesitation; her hair was dark and short to the chin, framing her delicate and refined face. The woman's eyes in the portrait were amber. Whoever it was, Brianna knew that face very well.

“May I help you?” Asked a voice to his left, making him jump, exactly what a person caught in the act should not do.

“Uh... I...” He started, not sure how to finish the sentence.

The woman was older, but seemed to wear the marks of her age with honor. He failed to notice even a trace of makeup on her face and her blue eyes seemed to see through his body, as if they saw more than he wanted to show. He had spent enough time analyzing her niece's face so as not to recognize the Nordic features of some Highland Scotsman in the aunt. Jocasta Cameron was quite tall, though not as tall as Brianna, or even as him. She was accompanied by an equally tall, slender man with golden hair combed back and green eyes without even a trace of sympathy.

“Complete sentences, dear.” Jocasta encouraged him, arching a red eyebrow. “Are you friends with Brianna?”

There was no turning back now, was it?

“Yes.” He agreed, approaching the two to greet them. “John Grey.”

Jocasta's eyes seemed to glow with something he thought was recognition. The man next to her looked extremely impatient, but he squeezed John’s hand tightly before introducing himself.

“Stephen Bonnet.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grey.” Said Jocasta, giving him a polite smile.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Cameron. Mr. Bonnet.”

Jocasta moved her head in the direction of her niece's voice, but her eyes did not follow the movement as they should have. Only a person used to watching people would be able to perceive the millisecond that her gaze took to follow the movement of her head towards the door. If that woman wasn't already blind, she was on the way to it, without a doubt. John felt terribly bad for her. He knew the story of the River Run Gallery and how Jocasta Cameron had struggled to make that place thrive during the dark times for art in New York. He couldn't even imagine how difficult it must be for her to never be able to see the work of a lifetime again.

"Brianna," she called, loud enough to echo through the empty gallery, but not loud enough to overcome the volume of the music the young woman heard. “She will end up deaf with those things stuck in her ear.”

Jocasta approached with long, safe strides toward the switch outside Brianna's room. Her fingers pressed the switch twice, making the lights in the room flicker and the young woman let out an unflattering scream. Jocasta's movement had been so sure that he almost wondered if he had been wrong about her compromised sight. However, when Brianna left the room, wearing a denim overall and a yellow t-shirt with orange stripes, he saw the woman's eyes search for her niece and only fixate on her when she spoke.

“I was...” Brianna was very good at hiding her feelings behind a facade of indifference, but she didn't even try to hide her expression of disgust when she saw Stephen Bonnet. It took almost half a second for her gaze to travel the way until they met John's and she frowned. “What are you doing here?”

"I was in the neighborhood..." he whispered, looking away.

Bonnet, who seemed not at all interested in that unexpected rendezvous, made a loud sound in his throat, making everyone turn to him. Despite being a well-dressed man, there was something about him that seemed to exude a strange energy that John didn't like at all.

“Mrs. Cameron.” John was not the best accent specialist, but he was almost certain that Mr. Bonnet came from somewhere in Ireland.

“Ah, yes.” Jocasta turned her unfocused eyes to her niece again. “Bree, dear, could you walk Stephen out? I want to show the project we are working on to Mr. Grey.”

John thought he saw Brianna make a face, but she just indicated the corridor behind her with her head and started to walk away, never looking back to make sure he was following her.

Bonnet said goodbye to Jocasta, and completely ignored John's existence before following Brianna down the well-lit corridor.

When the sound of their footsteps disappeared completely, Jocasta Cameron turned to him.

"I must confess that I expected a stronger accent," said Mrs. Cameron, reaching out to him. Not knowing what to do, John gave her his arm to hold her.

“Sorry, mrs. Cameron, but I don't think I understand.”

"Brianna told me you're English," she said, arching an eyebrow as if she were waiting for him to correct her. “Let's go into the room.”

"Yes," he confirmed, guiding her into the room that Brianna had been in a few moments ago. “My father is English, but my mother is Scot.”

"She must have lost her accent very well, I can barely hear it when you speak," admitted Jocasta, making him look sideways.

In fact, like Benedicta Grey, he had a minimal accent in some specific words that people could only notice when he drank a little too much. He was surprised that Jocasta Cameron noticed something so random about him in less than five minutes.

"Brianna is trying to save the gallery," she commented casually, as if talking about the weather outside the building. “That's why she was so upset when you refused to work for me.”

They had reached the center of the room, where the easel with the portrait Brianna was painting. There, John realized that the room was circular, unlike any others that followed the pattern full of sharp edges and straight lines in the gallery's architecture. There were two very large windows on the right, and John realized that the evening light probably turned that room into a globe of light. There were several pictures scattered on the walls, but they were all covered with a gray cloth. Among the paintings, dozens of mirrors covered every exposed inch of the walls, in various shapes, heights and sizes. Everything seemed to be positioned millimetrically in a way that did not appear to have been positioned millimetrically.

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Cameron.” He, in fact, was. “I wish I could help.”

Jocasta dismissed his apology with a nonchalant wave of her free hand.

"You were not the first to refuse a golden opportunity, nor will you be the last," she said, reaching out carefully towards the canvas, as if she didn't want to touch the fresh paint. John reached out and guided Jocasta's wrist to the edge of the screen, where it wouldn't blur anything. “She decided to do this project to help me.”

"She's incredibly talented," said John, analyzing the portrait Brianna was working on. “And determined.”

"Yes," agreed Jocasta, smiling. “I'm not sure if it's the MacKenzie or Fraser blood, but I can say that it's definitely something she took from her mother.”

Up close, John recognized Brianna's lips and the shape of her chin in the portrait. Everything else, he guessed, she must have got from her father.

"Mrs. Fraser is very beautiful," he commented, wondering if that was inappropriate.

"She is," Jocasta assured him. “Brianna is identical to her father, but her mother's features are hidden so that more observant eyes can see them.”

“Are you the sister of Mrs. Fraser or Mr. Fraser?” He asked, receiving a laugh in response.

"It is very flattering of you, but I fear that I am no longer young enough for that kind of courtship," she replied, still smiling. “Jamie is my nephew and Brianna is my great-niece.”

"You made Auntie Jo laugh." Brianna's voice came from the door and John looked over his shoulder, seeing her glare at him. "She either liked you a lot or is being fake and will speak ill of you behind your back."

"Don't listen to her," said Jocasta. “She's just mad because of Stephen Bonnet.”

"You bet I am," the young woman agreed, crossing her arms. John came to the conclusion that she looked even more beautiful when she was furious, but kept the remark to himself. “You know I don't like him walking around the gallery, especially when Ulysses isn't here.”

"Brianna thinks Stephen is like those pirates from the movies," the woman confided. “That he will kill me and plunder the gallery to smuggle everything we have here.”

John let out a sympathetic giggle and immediately regretted it. Brianna stuck her nose up in the air, straightening up and giving him a look that would have made him wince if he hadn't thought it was sexy.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She asked again, daring him to lie.

"I was passing through the neighborhood," he repeated, shrugging.

“And…?”

“Stephen was here for us to decide the details of the fundraising exhibition.” Said Jocasta, bringing everyone's attention to what was important. “I know you don't want him involved, dear, but Stephen is very influential and we need the right people to see your project.”

Brianna opened her mouth to protest, but seemed to swallow a petulant comment and just snorted.

"By the way, you will need an escort," she continued, turning to John with an expression that he could easily interpret as cunning. “What do you think of accompanying her, Mr. Grey?”

"I ... I would love to," he admitted, without looking at Brianna. “But I think Roger will want to accompany you, right?”

Of all the reactions that Jocasta Cameron could have, she expressed the one that surprised him the most. She made a face.

“Remind me to schedule this event for a day when Mr. Wakefield is unable to attend.”

“Auntie Jo.” Brianna scolded her, grudgingly.

“Well, I'm sure Brianna will find a way to explain to Roger how important it is for you to attend this event.” The way she said the name of her great-niece's boyfriend almost made John smile. “I do not understand the reasons why you refused my job offer, but if my niece thinks you are talented enough to work here, it is not fair that you do not have other opportunities.” Jocasta indicated the room with her hand, continuing. “These rooms will be full of sponsors, critics and journalists. Escort my niece and I can have a word with some acquaintances who can help you in any way.”

It was his turn to be speechless. That seemed like a great chance to meet someone within acceptable standards to finance him. He was so grateful that he hardly knew how to respond.

“Auntie Jo, this is...” Brianna seemed to search for the right word. “Very kind.”

"Yes.” John agreed, finding the words again. “I don't know how to thank you, Mrs. Cameron.”

“Say thank you by coming with Brianna. My God!” Exclaimed Jocasta, putting her hand theatrically on her forehead. “What time is it? You must be hungry!”

John wanted to deny it, but his stomach decided to told on him after the slightest mention of food.

"I'm going to get my bag from your office and we're out of here," said Brianna, preparing to leave.

“Actually, I still need to make some calls to agree on details of the event. Why don't you two go? Ulysses is coming here, I can ask him to bring me something.”

“Of course you have... Come on, Grey. I'll show you one of my favorite restaurants”, Brianna whispered, squinting in the direction of her aunt. Looking away from him, she added, "Maybe you will learn to have some taste."

…

Brianna and John walked in silence for a while. Out of the corner of his eye, he realized that she was still furious – whether with Stephen Bonnet, with her great-aunt, or with him, John couldn't say – and contained a smile. They talked a lot by text and, although he did not hide his interest in her while she pretended to be blind, deaf and dumb, the tension that seemed to spread around them when they were together was almost tangible.

The memories of that night in karaoke flowed before his eyes and he almost managed to relive the sensations, still quite fresh in his memory. The parts of their bodies that leaned against each other – parts that he wanted to lean against without the inconvenience of clothes – the smell of her perfume and the heady vibration caused by the urge to kiss her. That hallway at Disco Inferno, where he worked, was a perfect replica of hell itself; claustrophobic, hot and poorly lit. However, after that unexpected encounter, he had come to see that suffocating space with a much gentler look.

“Why are you smiling?” Brianna asked, pulling him out of his reverie. One of his red eyebrows was raised in defiance.

"It's a beautiful day," he said, still smiling, feeling almost as if he were drunk. “You look dashing, by the way.”

Brianna stopped, opening her mouth and then closing it. He watched, almost glowing with delight, practically listening to the gears in her brain working at full throttle to find something to say.

"Who says ‘dashing’ in the twenty-first century," she said, looking frustrated.

John just snorted.

"Your aunt told me about the exhibition you are organizing," he said casually.

"Aunt Jo is very talkative lately," she muttered, sighing shortly after. “It's a tribute to my grandmother. Auntie Jo's sister. And to all the other women in my family.”

"How cool," he said genuinely.

“It's not just that. The mirrors are there to show the woman’s beauty, regardless of the body in which we are tied. That is why the mirrors are of different sizes and shapes.”

“Brianna. It's an incredible idea!”

“Yes, yes. Anyway, there is a very nice restaurant nearby.” Brianna replied, trying to change the subject, her cheeks were as red as her hair. “It's one of my favorites.”

He looked around, cursing. Never, not in a million years, I’ll be able to afford a dish in this neighborhood.

“I have a better idea. We all know you have great taste.” he wanted to add an ‘except to choose a boyfriend’, but hold back, stopping sharply at the street corner. Brianna looked over her shoulder, frowning. “My favorite restaurant is in Chinatown. Are you ready to discover chef Jeff's delights? I promise, after you eat his Zong Zi, you'll never want to eat anything else.”

"First of all, that sentence sounded awful," she smiled. “And besides, Jeff is a very dull name.”

John nodded, indicating the driveway to his right.

“In fact, he's a pretty boring guy. You wouldn't like him.”

The two of them continued on their way for a few more blocks, exchanging amenities about the weather and the highlights of their week. She told him about Lizzie and Marsali, her best friends, and how they could be unbearable when they met a handsome guy to fantasize about.

“Are those the two girls that followed me on Instagram?”

"Sorry about that," said Brianna, shaking her head. She had released her hair and it fell like flaming waves until the middle of her back, with strands framing her face. “They don't know how to be polite.”

"I don't really care," he admitted, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “It's even flattering that they think I'm so handsome. Do you share that thought?”

Brianna rolled her eyes, as if she was prepared for that comment.

“You would love to know, wouldn't you?” She lifted her chin in the direction of a crowded restaurant. “Is this the one?”

John nodded, guiding her to the rather ornate entrance. The restaurant did not have a sign indicating the name of the place, but everyone knew Jeff. The place was packed, people alone and accompanied, whole families and even couples knew that no one who enjoyed Chinese cuisine would eat anywhere else.

“John!” Called a young man to his right. Yin was 73% Chinese, as he liked to make it clear. The other 27% were a mix between Korea, Thailand and Japan that he honored by dyeing his hair in bright colors. When he saw Brianna by his side, his eyes widened and he continued in Mandarin: “Who is she?”

"A friend," John replied, in the same language, watching Brianna squint in his direction. “Is the upstairs open?”

“No, but I think I can manage.”

Yin disappeared, nodding to greet Brianna before leaving.

“Do you speak Mandarin?” She asked, looking surprised.

“What? Just because I'm handsome I can’t be smart?” He asked, with a smile. My God, who is this guy? He thought, slightly scared of himself.

"You're annoying," said Brianna, smiling. “So…?”

John scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"My parents own a paper company," he said, as they waited until Yin returned. “They always thought it was important that their children knew several languages so that it would be easier to control everything. My brother, Hal, speaks eight.”

“How many languages do you speak?”

"Five," he said, shrugging. “English, Mandarin, Spanish, Italian and French. I always liked languages, but I came to the United States when I was starting to learn Portuguese, Korean and Japanese.”

“Did you come here to study?” She asked, curious.

John shifted from one leg to the other, uncomfortable. Almost as if he had been sent by the gods, Yin appeared through the back door of the balcony and indicated the closed staircase with his head. John gently pulled Brianna in that direction, waiting while the attendant unlocked the gate that cleared access to the restaurant's ground floor.

"Thank you, Yin," he said in English.

"Don't worry," the young man shrugged, smiling at them both. "I'm just not going to be able to come here that often, so you better know exactly what you want to eat or you'll be waiting a long time."

"We're going to want the usual," John assured him before going up the stairs, with Brianna right behind him.

The terrace was anything but glamorous. There were round tables scattered around, with aluminum chairs and clotheslines with Chinese-style paper lamps. The space was used only at night and, although it was not so magical during the day, privacy, sunlight and cool breeze made the space worthwhile. The best, however, was the view. Brianna crossed the open space, heading towards the parapet to enjoy the view of Chinatown, completely amazed.

"It's chaotically beautiful," she commented when he approached, resting his arms on the parapet.

“Yes.” He agreed, not looking at the landscape for a second.

“Why did you bring me here?” She asked, looking serious.

John pondered for a while, not quite sure how to answer. Why was he attracted to Brianna Fraser? Besides being beautiful, there was also that supernatural magnetism around her. She was interesting, which could not be said by many other people out there.

"It was what I could afford," he admitted, laughing shortly afterwards.

Brianna looked at him seriously.

"John," she began. “Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you or make you feel bad.”

"Then don't," he replied, turning around to have his body fully turned towards her. “You can pay for our second date, how about that?”

She laughed, looking away at the landscape again. A few small strands of his hair floated around his face in the breeze and he had to resist the urge to straighten his hair behind his ear.

"We can't keep doing this," she said, after a long minute of silence. “It isn’t fair.”

“Usually people wait for the date to end to dump the other.”

"You understand what I mean," she continued, turning to look at him. “I don't know what happens to us when we're in the same place together, but it's not fair.”

John nodded, discontented.

“Sorry. I never wanted to cause problems between you and Roger.”

“But it's not just Roger, right?” She sighed. “You have your girlfriend and...”

John raised his eyebrows in astonishment.

“I have a what?”

Brianna stared at him for a long second, seeming to analyze whether he was being sincere.

“Katherine? She told me that you were starting to get serious.”

“Do you know Katherine?”

John saw Brianna's jaw harden and almost managed to touch the wall she built between them.

“Did you think you could fool both of us then?”

“What? Not! That's not what I meant!”

“You are a huge idiot, you know that?”

"Brianna, I'm not dating Katherine," he said slowly, so that nothing was lost in the translation. “We met last week.”

She continued to stare at him in disbelief.

“When did she tell you that?”

“At the karaoke.”

John felt his eyes widen with such intensity that he feared they would jump out of his head.

“I met her that morning!”

Brianna studied him, as if trying to judge the truth of his words. Finally, she sighed, looking back at people walking up and down the crowded streets.

“Looks like you got involved with a crazy girl.”

John nodded, still upset.

“Apparently that is my type.”

"Idiot," she muttered again, looking over her shoulder when the terrace door opened again and Yin appeared, bringing a large basket with plates, cutlery and two water bottles.

The two sat down to eat, letting the silence fall on them for a few minutes while they satiated their hunger and reflected on the conversation they had just had. John wanted to bring his cell phone to get that story straight with Kat, but maybe the effort just wasn't worth it. She was a very fun woman and loved History, as well as being beautiful and friendly. However, Katherine Howard was not at all interesting. Somehow, she reminded him of Percy.

"I thought this was your favorite restaurant," said Brianna, wiping her mouth with her napkin.

“Hm?” Asked John, with his mouth full.

“You were making a face.”

"Ah," he muttered, after swallowing. “Tell me something shameful about you.”

She stared at him intensely before answering.

“Why?”

"Because we agreed to be friends and I need to know that you're not as perfect as you seem to be," he said simply.

"You first," she ordered, taking a sip of her water.

“Hm...” John looked down at his Zong Zi thoughtfully. “Oh, ok. I dated a guy once. Percy. He was one of the worst mistakes I've ever made, but that's beside the point.” A small but very aware part of him was scanning her face carefully, trying to look for any sign of disapproval or disappointment. Even in the 21st century, some people did not seem to understand the concept of bisexuality.

“What's so embarrassing about that?” She asked.

“I'll get there. One day I decided that I wanted to introduce him to my parents and ended up turning everything into something very theatrical.” Explained John. “It turns out that Percy is just a nickname. His name is Perseverance, but he hates that people know it. When I went to introduce him to my family I made the mistake of saying his whole name and he just freaked out and left, saying he was embarrassed and that I had no right to humiliate him that way.”

"Sounds a little dramatic," said Brianna.

"He always was," agreed John. “The worst part was that he decided to take his revenge by telling all my family that I had lost my virginity to him. My grandmother was at the table.”

She gasped, reaching up to her lips to cough.

"What a bastard," she replied, after a long minute until she recovered from her attack. She was still red and a little breathless, her eyes were full of tears and her nose was running a little.

“Yes, it was a nightmare. Your turn.”

Brianna hesitated, still fanning herself with the napkin.

"I have no traumatizing history with my parents, my brother, Fergus was kind enough to go through all the traumas so that I didn't have to experience them," she said, a little hoarsely. “When I was in the first year of college, I made a list of a hundred things I wanted to do during my life.”

“Is that your shameful story?”

“You didn't see the items that are there.”

“Do you still have that list?” He asked.

“Probably.”

“I'd love to see it.”

“Not even if you paid me.”

John pointed his finger at her, doing his best to look angry.

“My story was traumatizing, yours was cute at best.”

“What can I say?” Brianna shrugged. “I’m flawless.”

He was beginning to believe that narrative. Thinking that he would accompany her to an event thrown by Jocasta Cameron made his stomach to flip with nervousness. Brianna Fraser really seemed to be flawless, while he had already lost count of his own.

“Shit!” He swore, being hit by a reality punch.

“What?”

"Nothing," he lied. “I bit my tongue.”

Jocasta Cameron had invited him to an event with the art elite at River Run Gallery. Where the hell would he get the money to rent a suit?


	8. 7. FAMILY PORTRAIT

**BRIANNA**

When Fergus Fraser graduated high school, he announced to his family that he wanted to pursue a career in music.

Brianna was not at all surprised – nor did she think her parents had been. Fergus had a talent that Brianna considered absurd for learning how to play an instrument and she had already lost count of how many he played with mastery, besides singing like an angel.  _ Maybe it was fair _ , she thought sometimes: she had a flair for math and arts and her brother was a musical prodigy.

Unlike Bree, Fergus didn't think about going to college away from home – he applied for Juilliard and Berklee, but chose Berklee after all. She understood, of course, he had been adopted just two years before – life in Boston was the most stable he had ever known. After graduating from college, Fergus told the news to her and their parents: he and two other friends in his class decided to form a band and had recently been discovered by an agent.

Claire, Jamie and Brianna were, of course, ecstatic at the news and happy that Fergus and his friends got that opportunity. Then, he announced the band's name: The Brothel.

Jamie was horrified. Brianna pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, and it took Claire a few seconds to express her opinion:  _ “Very original, darling. I loved it." _

It was always strange for Bree to think that her brother was "kind of famous". Well, the band was not a worldwide phenomenon that performed in stadiums, but they had already managed to tour the United States and Europe (and there were people asking them to go to Brazil, which was practically synonym for fame), and their songs debuted well enough on the charts so that Fergus could live comfortably. He decided that he was going to settle in Boston and lived in an apartment close enough to Mama and Da so that he could have lunch with them on Sundays when he was in town. Fergus was no Harry Styles, but he had very dedicated fans who followed Brianna (and their parents) on Instagram and Twitter and who freaked out in the comments every time she posted a photo or story with him. It was even weirder to think that many of those girls should use pictures of her brother on their cell phone lockscreen, as she had done in her Twilight / Robert Pattinson-obsessed fan phase. She would furiously blush whenever she thought about that.

"Bree, you don't sound well," Fergus said on the other end of the line. “It is him, isn’t it?”

Brianna pressed her cell phone more tightly to her face and closed her eyes. The seconds of silence she thought about a possible lie were enough for Fergus to understand what was going on.

“That  _ fils de pute _ ! What did he do, Bree? Did he hurt you? Did he... force you to do anything?” She knew it was difficult to make Fergus angry (which was practically a blessing for her parents after they raised a temperamental daughter), but his tone changed quickly with the possibility that something bad might have happened to her because of Roger.

"He didn't do anything, Fergus," said Brianna, in a surprisingly calm voice for someone who was on the verge of tears just minutes ago. “I mean, he wanted to, but I told him to leave. He was clearly angry, but said nothing. He just left.”

Fergus sighed heavily – out of relief or anger, she didn't know.

“Bree, how long are you going to let this go on?”

“You know it's not that simple,” she said, through her teeth.

Unlike Marsali and Lizzie, Fergus knew exactly why Brianna hadn't broken up with Roger until then. Not because she thought her friends wouldn't understand or judge her, but because she  _ knew _ that Fergus could understand better than anyone. However, Fergus had not been as affected by the pressure of having Jamie and Claire – the perfect couple – as parents in the same way as Brianna had.

" _ Ma sœur," _ he began, his tone tender and softer. "How many of my girlfriends do you think  _ Maman _ approved of?"

Brianna frowned to think – but it wasn't long before she had the answer:

“None.”

“Exactly,” Fergus replied, laughing. “And you think she stopped loving me, or started to love me less because of that?”

"Of course not," said Brianna immediately.

“Why do you think it would be different with you?”

That was the thing about talking to Fergus: he wasn't quite a man of many words, but when he decided to open his mouth he always knew exactly what to say. Bree took a deep breath.

“I just don't want to disappoint them. Disappoint Mama, especially.”

"I don't think you would ever be able to disappoint our parents,  _ petite beauté _ ," he said. She smiled with the nickname he had invented for her when she got as tall as he was, that was cute and ironic at the same time, as she wasn’t  _ petite  _ at all. “You are a genius. You always stood out in everything you did. You just apparently have terrible taste for men.”

_ Maybe that's changing _ , she thought and bit her lip, feeling a little guilty with that inappropriate thought.

“I'm sure  _ Maman _ won't be disappointed in you. Perhaps she gets disappointed with the situation as a whole, but she knows that none of us, especially you, should live exactly as she planned. We are their children, not robots created to live up to their expectations.”

"I hate it when you're right," Brianna teased, although she hadn't hated it at all. She heard Fergus laugh and realized, again, how much she missed him. “When are you coming to visit me? We haven't seen each other in months!”

“Well, I can't promise anything now, but as soon as we finish recording the new album, alright? It won’t take long.” he told her.

“I can't wait to hear it!”, she said sincerely. Despite the controversial name of the band, The Brothel had amazing songs. “And Fergus... thank you, okay? I know you're right and I will try to... fix the mess I made. I love you.”

“ _ Je t'aime aussi _ , silly,” he replied, and she knew he was smiling. “I was going to offer to punch that asshole, but I think you can handle him all by yourself very well.”

…

Bree had gotten used to her exhausting and strangely pleasurable new routine, which was leaving work and going straight to the River Run Gallery, where she stayed until late in the night or, sometimes, early in the morning. Phil, one of Aunt Jo's private drivers, left her at home so she wouldn't have to use the subway so late and more than once she had slept in the car on the way home. At other times, her hours of sleep were so scarce that she felt as if her head weighed a ton every time she got up to go to the office – her mood, of course, was not one of the best these days, but it transformed instantly as soon as she entered the gallery.

The idea of the MacKenzie-Fraser exhibition came up in a brainstorm as she tried to come up with a project that was interesting enough to bring the attention of New York art critics back to River Run, but that was also relevant so that anyone could visit it. She almost shouted  _ "eureka!" _ in Auntie Jo's office when she realized that the answer was literally right in front of her nose. The women in her family were known for their determination and tenacity – they were not just descendants of ancient Highland clans, there was something special about each one that stood out beyond the history of their lineage. They were artists, like Grandma Ellen and Auntie Jo and herself; teachers, like Auntie Jenny and cousin Margaret; scientists, like Mama and, again, Brianna. She had never doubted that she could be anything she wanted because she was surrounded by strong women who overcame the repression of their time, sexism and all the difficulties that came their way, and they turned out to be  _ brilliant _ . How many other little girls and women needed such an incentive? She hoped her family's story would inspire them.

As difficult as it was to reconcile work, the exposition and her taking care of Auntie Jo, who was now recovering from surgery – the doctor had said that she needed to stay in absolute rest if she wanted to be well in time for the charity event –, she didn't complain. Brianna had started spending a few nights with Auntie Jo too, taking turns with Ulysses. She knew that her great-aunt would be extremely irritated and bored if she were only cared for by her maids, so Bree decided to keep her company. That specific night, Jocasta had asked Brianna to write RSVP invitations to the event – after trying to argue that no one else sent invitations but emails, which Auntie Jo replied with “hand invitations are much more sophisticated”, she just sighed and sat down at her aunt's desk.

"I've been thinking," Auntie Jo said, lying on the bed, and Brianna knew that tone of voice _. I've been thinking _ was an omen for something that should be, at least, worrying “and I want your friend to paint your portrait for the exhibition.”

Brianna turned in the swivel chair to face her aunt, even though she was wearing a black eye patch mask.

“My friend?”

“Mr. Grey, of course.”

Bree rolled her eyes. She still hadn't finished all the paintings in the exhibition and had definitely decided to leave her self portrait last, since she was having enough difficulty with Grandma Ellen's painting.

“Auntie Jo,” she started “I already told you that John refused your proposition, for whatever reasons. He must have said that to you in  _ person _ .”

“If being public is a problem, ask him to do it anonymously, then,” the woman shrugged.

Brianna frowned for a moment, suspicious, trying to imagine what had happened for Auntie Jo to sound so determined with that idea. What could John have done or said to make her like him so quickly?

Okay, she couldn't judge her aunt, since she was practically in the same boat. However, unlike Bree, Auntie Jo was cunning enough to get everything she wanted, no matter how. That was what worried her.

“May I know what happened, exactly, so that you had this idea?” asked Bree.

“I asked Ulysses to investigate him, after meeting him in the gallery,” Auntie Jo said casually, and Brianna gaped at her. “Just to confirm that he was as good as you said and if he would be worth it. And apparently, he is. Did you know that he was the best of his class at NYU?”

“Auntie Jo!” She protested, feeling a mixture of horror that her aunt had investigated John and a little bit of hurt that she hadn't completely trusted her judgment. That last part was totally selfish, of course, so she could only focus on the first. “Did you send Ulysses to  _ investigate _ him, as if he were a criminal?”

"I meant in artistic terms," Jocasta sighed, and Bree could bet the woman would have rolled her eyes if she hadn't been wearing that mask.

"I can talk to him about it," Bree said, "but I can't promise he'll accept it.” She warned.

Jocasta laughed, sounding like Brianna was five and too naive to understand anything.

“Oh dear... “ she shook her head, still with the malicious smile on her lips. “He  _ will _ accept it.”

Bree knew that tone of voice very well:  _ the MacKenzie effect. _

After writing at least fifty invitations and stacking them up, feeling her hand aching, she said goodbye to Auntie Jo by giving her a kiss on the forehead before leaving. Brianna called a taxi, too tired to walk home and determined to let Phil have some peace. In the back seat of the car, she distracted herself watching the city lights for a moment while playing with her cell phone in her hands, not sure what to do.

_ Screw it _ , she thought, and searched the contact list for the name before pressing the call button.

“To what do I owe this honor?” John's voice sounded lazily delicious on the other end of the line, and she could imagine so clearly the provocative expression on his face when he said that it almost made her shrunk.

“Are you... damn, I forgot that you should be working now. Sorry,” she said, listening to the muffled sound of singing and people talking at the karaoke bar “I just... um, I have something serious to say, and I would rather you hear my voice than just read a text message.”

“I figured,” John replied “and so I decided to take the risk of being fired and answered. In fact, when it comes to you, it wouldn't take much for me to take a risk.”

Brianna could not contain the smile that appeared on her lips. Lucky for her that he couldn't see her.

"Do you remember what I told you about Auntie Jo? That she liked you a lot or she was being fake?” she considered John's brief silence as a yes, betting that it wouldn't be that simple for him to forget that memorable meeting. “Well, apparently it was the first option. Lucky you.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” He asked, and this time his tone sounded more cautious than the usual  _ flirtatious-and-sarcastic _ Bree had gotten used to.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes before speaking again.

“She wants you to paint a picture for the exhibition.  _ My _ portrait, to be more specific,” Brianna said. She felt a tingle of nervousness in the fingers of her hand that was not holding the cell phone. “To be honest, I don't know exactly why. Maybe she doesn't trust me enough to handle it,” she said, then chuckled humorlessly. “And I said you had your own reasons for denying the opportunity to work with her, and she suggested you do it anonymously… Look, I know it's ridiculous and I probably should have ignored it and didn't even bother to tell you this, but my aunt has her own ways of getting what she wants. She can try to bribe you, after all she has money, but...”

“Are you free tomorrow night?” John interrupted her to ask.

She blinked a few times, feeling a little puzzled.

"I am," she said, without even thinking before confirming that she was. Well, too late for that now. “Are you?”

“I am. Where can we meet?”

She could hardly believe what she was hearing, and as soon as the taxi stopped in front of her building, she handed over a few dollar bills leaving a generous tip for the driver before answering John:

“At my place. I'll text you the address later.”

…

As in any situation, Brianna enjoyed listening to music while cooking. The volume on her cell phone was loud enough that she could enjoy the sound while doing her ridiculous little dances around the kitchen, using the wooden spoon as a microphone, but not loud enough that she wouldn't hear the knock on the door. She pressed the pause button and left the spoon in the sink before answering her visitor.

John was standing in the hallway, wearing a T-shirt that made his eyes look even more blue, if that was possible, and his hair was a little wet. He was gorgeous as always, which was no surprise, so Brianna looked away from John's face to what he was holding in his hands: a cactus in a pink vase with a golden bow. She laughed.

“Did you bring me a cactus?”

"Well, people usually take flowers when they go on a date," he said. "But that would be tedious, considering how quickly they die. A cactus doesn’t die so easily.”

“Very poetic,” she said, opening the door wider and giving him space to enter “but this is not a date. It’s a business meeting.”

“Okay,” replied John “because we agreed that you would pay for lunch on our second date.”

Bree bit her lip when she turned her back to him, preventing him from seeing the smile that she let escape. John was annoyingly full of himself, she thought, but at the same time it was also one of the things she liked most about him. He was confident without being truly arrogant and she was still a little stunned by the fact that he managed to balance personality, beauty and talent without any going up in his head. Many men who had only one of the three – or none – were cocky for no reason.

“Speaking of food, are you hungry?” she asked.

"No. But it smells great, by the way," he said, looking at her over his shoulder quickly. Brianna turned off the stove and opened the cupboard to get a glass and a closed bottle of wine as she watched him. John seemed quite interested in her apartment.

Bree took the cork out of the bottle and filled the glass before approaching him.

“It isn’t what you expected?”

He smiled.

“Somehow, it is. It suits you.” he said, and she raised her eyebrows, not knowing exactly what it meant. “It's... bigger than I thought.”

"That's what she said," Brianna said, feeling very proud of her Michael Scott moment before taking a sip of wine while John rolled his eyes at the joke. “Sometimes I think it's too big for me and that I should adopt a pet to share the space, but I barely remember to water the plants...”

“See? You won't have that problem with the cactus,” he pointed out, and she shrugged, agreeing.

Of course, Bree's apartment was nowhere near as large as Auntie Jo's penthouse or her parents' house in Boston, but by New York standards, anywhere that wasn't a loft and had more than a bedroom was already considered large. She had actually thought of adopting a puppy or kitten, but the constant presence of Lizzie and Marsali made her feel less lonely.

Brianna had decided to keep many things in the apartment as Hector Cameron had left: the walls varied from white to a light gray and there was a wall in the living room – which was her favorite – of terracotta bricks. The cabinets that were there when she moved in were classic, also white, but she had decorated the apartment with colorful pillows, potted plants and photographs that were the perfect balance against the neutral tones.

“ _ These  _ are your parents?” John asked, pointing to a photograph that Fergus had taken of them on her 21st birthday. She smiled and shook her head to confirm. “Your father... um, he’s...”

“What? Do you have a crush on my dad?” Bree asked, with a provoking smile. It wouldn't be new, in fact, all of her friends at school were in love with Jamie.

"No," John made a face, and she thought it was the first time she had seen his face blush. And she was loving it. “I was going to say that you look a lot like him. But with your mother too, she is very beautiful... wait, I didn't mean that to sound weird.”

She was controlling herself with all her strength to keep from laughing.

“I thought you were bi,” she said thoughtfully “but apparently you're Frasersexual.”

“Ha ha,” John replied, sarcastic “I believe this was humiliating enough for the night.”

“Oh, I was just starting,” she said, returning to the kitchen. “The easel and the canvas are next to the couch, and the case with the materials is on the side table. Do you want to drink something?”

"Just water," he said, resting his arms on the counter that separated the living room from the integrated kitchen. “Since, as you pointed out, this is a business meeting.”

Brianna looked at him sideways as she took the water bottle out of the refrigerator.

“Every artist needs an incentive to feel more inspired before they start working, don't they? Some need chocolate, others need drugs. Who am I to judge?”

"You need music," John said.

She smiled, handing him the glass of water.

“That’s correct. And what do  _ you _ need?,” she asked, curious.

“Depends on what I'm doing,” he replied, taking a sip of water afterwards. “If I'm going to paint you, that's enough inspiration.”

Brianna swallowed, feeling a shiver down her spine. She still hadn't gotten used to the fact that John was so direct, and it was obviously a lot easier to deal with it while exchanging texts, because she could afford to express the sensations he caused her since he couldn't see her. Being in front of him was different, especially since her brain ordered  _ "stay in your lane" _ at the same time that some other part of her body was screaming  _ "kiss him now!". _

She had been honest when she said that what happened when they were together wasn’t fair. It wasn't fair to  _ her _ , mostly.

"The quicker we start this, the quicker we will finish," she said, finishing drinking the rest of the wine that was in her glass at once and filling the glass again afterwards. John laughed, watching her with an almost worried expression. “What? I am half Scot and half English, I handle some things better under the influence of alcohol.”

“And yet, you are 100% American,” he observed. “200 per cent in total.”

Bree frowned.

“That must be the reason why I feel everything so intensely.”

“Or it must be why you are more interesting than anyone I know.”

She gave him a look that she wasn't sure if it meant  _ stop it, or I'll punch you _ or  _ kiss you _ . Bree pulled one of the tall stools from the counter, dragging it into the middle of the living room while John set up the easel and canvas. She sat on the couch, facing him, suddenly feeling extremely uncomfortable. The only thing she could think of was the Titanic scene in which Jack drew Rose, and even though Brianna was completely covered in her mom jeans and white woolen sweater, she almost said "draw me like one of your French girls" just to break the ice. If she didn't use jokes or sarcastic comments as a defense mechanism, it wasn't Brianna.

“What?” John asked. He either was a good observer, or she was actually making a face.

“I don't know what to do,” she replied, in a low tone. “I never did this before. I mean, besides the day you drew me at the subway station, but I...” she stopped talking because John got up and did the last thing she could hope for. He held her face in his hands.

She held her breath and opened her eyes wide, feeling as if a siren had started to sound inside her head at that moment. But he did nothing she could imagine: he just continued to study her with a frown, carefully turning her face to the right. Then Bree understood: he was looking for her best angle.

She let out a small sigh of relief, missing his gentle touch and the feel of his icy fingers against her skin when John took a step back, with a satisfied little smile.

"I didn't want to be included in the exhibition, you know," she confessed. “But of course Auntie Jo insisted. Not only because it would seem kind of self-centered, but also because everyone says how much I look like my grandmother,” even if she hadn't met Grandma Ellen in person, the photographs she had of her grandmother showed the obvious similarities between the two of them. Anyone who looked quickly would tell that they were the same person, but Brianna had seen those pictures enough to notice that Ellen had much more delicate features than hers. Her grandmother's face was slightly more rounded, her nose smaller and upturned, and she didn't have marked cheekbones and a jaw line evident like Brianna’s. “I think visitors will think I'm a weirder version of her.”

“I would really appreciate it if you stopped self-deprecating, because that makes it so much harder for me to avoid saying how beautiful you are at any opportunity I have.”

She remained in the pose John had put her in, but she blinked a few times, feeling her face heat up.

“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to do that.”

“I know,” he replied. “Not good with compliments, I remember. Which makes that blush on your cheeks so much more pleasurable.”

"Idiot," she growled, and he laughed in response.

The minutes – hours, in fact – passed while John worked and neither of them said anything else. But that was not an uncomfortable silence: not to mention the muffled noise of the city that never sleeps through the windows, Brianna just couldn't explain in words the feeling she had when she was close to John. She felt... good. Safe. As if they had been friends for much longer than they really were.

_ But friends don't look at each other that way. _

“Okay, it isn’t finished, of course,” he said, jumping off the stool to stand, looking at the canvas with his arms crossed “but I need an excuse to come back here again.”

She smiled. Of course she also wanted him to come back there again. When she got up, she felt her head spin slightly ( _ oops _ , she thought,  _ it looks like someone had too much wine _ ) and walked until she was side by side with him.

She couldn't help but gasp as she looked at the painting. It was not finished and yet it was perfect. The way John had painted her almost made her tear up, because it was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever done for her, even if it hadn't been  _ for _ her.

“Wow,” she admitted, with a whisper “this is incredible. You’re...”  _ wonderful _ , she thought, but noticed his gaze staring at her and she hardened the expression on her face, lifting her chin. “You’re very good.” she said, without bending over.

He bit his bottom lip, as if he knew exactly what she had done.  _ Did I turn on the heater? God, why did it get so hot in here suddenly? _

“I have something for you,” she announced. “Just because you earned it.”

It was John's turn to look puzzled.

“I already said I don't want...”

“It's not money. It's better,” she said, heading to her bedroom. She had looked for it the same day they had lunch together, as soon as she got home. Littering some sealed boxes since her move was practically like opening Pandora's box, but she had left the notebook on her dresser ever since. She returned to the living room and held out the red hardcover Moleskine to John. He was still looking at her without understanding. “Open for a surprise. Just because you said that my story was not embarrassing enough.”

John started flipping through the notebook. Among the notes of history classes at Harvard were several drawings and, of course, what she had promised.

The list.

“I don't believe it,” he said, looking up at her with his eyes shining. "Not even if you paid me", huh?

"Don't make me change my mind," she threatened, but John was already reading.

“Okay, the first items are not so bad,” he admitted, seeming to be controlling himself a lot not to burst out laughing “But ‘kiss in the rain’? Seriously?”

"I was younger and stupid," she defended herself, crossing her arms.

“Why none of them are marked? Surely you must have already done some of these things, right?” He asked, and Brianna shrugged. " ‘Say I love you for the first time’? Have you never said that to your boyfriend?”

Brianna rolled her eyes and snorted.

“No. I never dated someone I really loved.” she said. The second the words came out of her mouth, she realized that she probably wouldn't have admitted it out loud to John if she hadn’t been encouraged by the wine. “When I made this list, I thought it would be the beginning for my life to change completely. However, when I had to deal with real problems in my new life, that list became the last thing I would worry about, so I just dropped it. I completely forgot it.”

“I understand what you mean, but,” he started, without taking his eyes off the notebook, and cleared his throat dramatically, before reading aloud: " ‘64 - Wear my boyfriend's T-shirts’. For God's sake, Brianna!”

She covered her face with her hands, feeling mortified with shame.

“Come on, I was eighteen and a hopeless romantic. Now I’m just hopeless,” she said with a grimace.

John seemed to be having a great time when he finally finished reading the list (and the last few items must have been the worst, since she had put any crap to complete the hundred) and sat down next to her on the sofa, returning her notebook.

“I will help you fulfill the items on that list.”

Bree frowned.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I'm not! If you don't want to do it yourself, do it for the sweet and innocent hopeless romantic eighteen-year-old Brianna. I won't be able to live with myself if I let her down.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I knew I would eventually regret showing you this list, but I didn't know I would regret it so quickly.”

“You'll see,” he pointed at her, sounding extremely convinced “When you least expect it, you'll have accomplished all of them, and you'll thank me for that for the rest of your life.” Then John seemed to remember something important and Bree looked at him curiously. “Can you give me the notebook back?”

“No way!”, she laughed. “What for?”

“I forgot to take pictures of the list.”

Bree laughed even harder, holding the notebook tightly against her body.

“Okay, Grey, I think it's time for you to go home before I punch you.”

…

After – finally! – buying the new curtains for her bedroom and turning off the alarm, allowing herself to sleep a little more since it was Saturday and she could go to the gallery later, Brianna woke up with a scare from her cell phone vibrating with a call. If it wasn't a case of life and death to wake her up early on her day off, she swore to God she would…

She stopped thinking when he saw John's name on the screen.

“John? What happened?” She asked worriedly, her voice sounding hoarse and sleepy like every time she tried to speak right after waking up.

‘We'll start doing the things on your list, remember?” He asked, sounding extremely excited.  _ No one _ sounded that happy at that time in the morning, and Brianna was sure they hadn't agreed on anything. “Get ready. I'll be there in... hm, I just left the station, so maybe in five minutes?”

She sat up quickly, pushing the covers to the floor.

"You could have warned me  _ before _ you came, genius," she complained crossly. He let out a loud laugh.

“Five minutes!” He warned again before hanging up.

Brianna ran to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, and when she tied her hair up in a bun, she stared at her reflection in the mirror for a brief moment when she thought  _ what the hell are you doing? _ If the call was from Roger or, she realized in amazement, even from one of her friends, she would probably ignore it and go back to sleep. Why did John have that effect on her?

She didn't like it, not at all. But she was too curious to dismiss the opportunity to know what he had in mind.

Definitely more than five minutes had passed until she had showered and got dressed. When she went to the kitchen to get something to eat, she heard a knock on the door and was startled at first, almost forgetting that John had been waiting for her there for some time.

He was holding a cup of coffee and a bag that, judging by the smell, Bree would say had muffins inside.

“To redeem myself for making you get up so early,” he said, with that wry little smile that would not allow her to be angry at him for a long time. “You look like someone who drinks black coffee with no sugar. Am I right?”

“Yes,” she replied, really surprised, leaving the apartment and locking the door behind her. “Do your observation skills allow you to discover how people drink coffee? Impressive.”

"It's a gift," John replied, shrugging.

She finished eating the blackberry muffin before they arrived at the station on her street, the same street where they had met. It was strange to be back there with him – this time as  _ friends _ – and having no idea where they were going.

“Why can't you tell me?” She asked, for what should be the tenth time.

“I don't know if you are used to the concept of "surprise", but it requires that at least one of the people must not know what will happen.”

Brianna, like the mature grown up she was, stuck her tongue out. John smiled broadly.

"If you're planning to kill me and get rid of the body, be aware that my dad is a cop and he'll find out it was you," she warned, before John took her hand that wasn't holding the coffee cup. That gesture  _ was _ a surprise. She stared at their fingers, intertwined, feeling something she couldn't quite identify. A strange sensation.

“This is ours. Come on,” he announced as he watched the B train approach. Then, he turned to face her again. “And what you talked about, don't worry. I'm sure you would kill me before I tried to do anything you didn't want to do.”

Bree did not answer. He was right, of course, so why hadn't she been able to react when he took her hand?  _ Because you wanted him to do that, you idiot _ , the voice in her conscience teased.

Brianna's curiosity got bigger and bigger after each station the train stopped and they didn't get off. John remained adamant, not giving in to her questions, not even when she tried to bribe him for her to tell. When the subway crossed the border between Manhattan and Brooklyn, she started to get even more anxious and strangely excited.

"Heavens, I thought we were never going to arrive," said Brianna, when John indicated that they would be leaving at the next stop. She didn't know Brooklyn well beyond the obvious places like the Botanical Gardens and Coney Island ( _ white girl problems _ ), so she really had no idea where they were.

"There," John pointed to a group of brown buildings that were a few feet away from the station they had left. She remained confused, not knowing what the place was about, but decided not to ask any more questions because he held her hand again to guide her.

If she were trying to guess, she would say the place was a community school or college.  _ Almost _ , she thought to herself when she saw the sign that said “Fulton Park Community Center” and realized that the buildings were surrounded by large outdoor patios through which dozens of children ran, enjoying one of the last hot and sunny days before fall arrived.

“I... don't understand,” she confessed, before they entered. “What are we going to do here?” She asked, and more importantly,  _ what the hell did the list have to do with that? _

“Item 15, if I'm not mistaken, right?” John wanted to know. She raised her eyebrows. "Helping people? Well, this is the perfect place for that.”

She opened her mouth, babbling a silent "oh" as she followed John into what should be the main building of the community center. He greeted some people as they walked down the corridors, from employees to others who seemed to be just locals, to meeting a well-dressed lady who, if Brianna had to guess, should have been one of the people responsible for the place.

“John!” the woman smiled brightly when she saw him. He greeted her with a hug.

“Mrs. Knightley,” John smiled, charming as always. “I hope you don't mind, I brought a friend to help me with class today. She is incredibly talented,” he gestured to Bree “Brianna Fraser, meet Emma Knightley, director of the community center.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Fraser.” Mrs. Knightley reached out to greet Bree, who was so overwhelmed by everything that was happening that she barely managed to answer the woman, only returning the smile she had given her.  _ What class?, _ she asked herself mentally, amid so many questions. John had never mentioned anything about it. “It's a pleasure to have you with us. I'm sure our students will be super excited to make a new friend.”

John opened the door of one of the rooms in the hall, and Brianna was surprised to find it full of children. At least most, she managed to identify, had some disability, and she felt on the verge of tears – not because she felt sorry for them, but because she was emotional to see how happy they seemed when they saw John. 

“So?” John asked, leaning closer to her. “What do you think?”

She swallowed the urge to cry, but when she turned to face him, she was sure he could see the sparkle in her eyes.

“You are unbelievable.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” he winked at her before turning to the children who were suddenly quiet when they saw Brianna, looking kind of mesmerized by the presence of the tall, unknown redhead. “Guys, it's good to see you all again! I would like you to meet my friend. You can call her Bree,” he introduced her “and she will teach the lesson today.”


	9. 8. ABOUT MEN AND SUITS

**JOHN**

The day of the big charity event at River Run Gallery started like any other, with no hint of the chaos that was about to come. John woke up on a Saturday morning, earlier than usual, and went for a walk around the neighborhood. He was not obsessed with exercise – although keeping his body in shape required some care – but he believed that the release of endorphins had a strong positive impact on his nervousness and, at that moment, he was very close to collapse. Despite the slightly suffocating feeling, he couldn't say whether the cause was the size and importance of the event – plus what it represented for the future of his career – or the prospect of being Brianna's date.

He had thought about taking Willie for a walk, but after almost losing his fingers to the dark-brown demon, he decided it would be a good idea to use that time to organize his thoughts. Jocasta Cameron had thrown him a life jacket without even knowing how badly he needed one. John had, against Denny's will, offered to help Brianna with the details of the exhibition she had planned and received a good amount of money for the portrait he had done of her. His first instinct had been to refuse it immediately, which led to the beginning of a protest from Brianna that was interrupted by her great aunt.

“I didn't ask you a favor,” Mrs. Cameron had said, when he refused to take the check she offered him. “You did me a job. Besides, my niece is going to be the focus of the night and you, as her escort, need to be dressed accordingly.”

He ignored the implicit snub in that seemingly harmless comment and took a look at his faded jeans, feeling a little uncomfortable.

In fact, Jocasta's money had been enough for him to get the Hunter siblings together to help him with the all-important task of finding a suit that would make him look respectable and full of potential. Denzell, as usual, thought it was a bad idea.

“You’re aware that this thing will be full of journalists, right?” He asked, arching an eyebrow. “You’ll accompany the granddaughter of the owner of the gallery, everyone there will be wanting to talk to her.”

"It's the perfect opportunity," said Rachel Hunter, rolling her eyes next to her brother.

The Hunters rarely disagreed with anything, but when that happened, Rachel used to have the best arguments. Denzell was a few years older than his younger sister, but both were extremely similar physically and intellectually. They both had darker greenish-brown eyes, shiny black skin and that determined expression of who could easily win a competition out of spite. Neither of them had much money, but they struggled hard to get their places at the best universities in New York and John was sure that all their efforts would be rewarded one day.

"He could be  _ arrested _ , Rachel," said Denny, looking tired of stating the obvious. “You, out of all people, know how the world feeds on gossip.”

“He's nobody, Denny. Sorry, John,” she added, making a face before continuing. “People will ask themselves who is the hottie following the niece of the gallery owner with that abandoned puppy face, yes, but this event will bring together relevant people from various artistic areas and I’m sure that no one will care who the hell John Grey is. One of my professors, Hayley Hudson, will be there covering the event for her blog. I wanted her to ask me to help  _ so _ badly.”

John had many observations about that comment, but he was unable to come up with a very coherent answer, so he focused on the less important part of Rachel's speech.

“Hottie?”

“If you weren’t screwed up, I’d hit on you”, she playfully winked at him, then turned her attention to her brother. “This is a great opportunity for him to find a sponsor to help him cross the social precipice that exists between him and Jocasta Cameron. The three of us know very well that our Lord John here is a major procrastinator and, if he doesn’t take this chance, he will spend another three years here,  _ illegally _ , before doing anything about his own situation.”

Rachel Hunter did not beat around the bush. Since they met, more than five years before, she had given him the nickname Lord John because of his accent and, even after so long, this was her loving way of easing a scolding. She always said what she thought, regardless of whether you were prepared to have the truth rubbed in your face or not. The worst part, however, was that she was right.

It had been a little over three years since John's student visa expired due to his carelessness, and when he tried to get a permanent visa or any other way that would allow him to remain in the United States, his application was denied. He didn't know what had made him stay in that country illegally, but by the time he realized what he was doing, it was too late. Now he was forced to face the consequences of that choice.

"I agree with Rach," said John, after a little too long a pause.

"Of course you do," said Denny, making a face.

"That being said," John continued, reaching for the keys on the counter. “Who's up to do some shopping?”

The three of them walked through the streets of New York that afternoon, but he soon regretted taking the Hunter siblings with him. What should have taken, at most, a couple of hours, ended up going on for six when Rachel dragged them through all the boutiques she knew and that were within his reduced budget in search of the perfect suit. Denny – as was to be expected – was not at all happy with the union of his best friend and his sister to torment him, but he, more than anyone, knew how important that was to John and, therefore, refrained from any fatalistic comment.

"There is something inexplicably sexy about men and suits," Rachel had said, when John left the fitting room in the seventeenth store. She had asked what color dress Brianna would wear, but that information was way beyond his concerns at the moment. “Oh my God! You look  _ really _ hot.”

John had been forced to agree. His eyes slid over his reflection in the boutique's huge mirror and he had to contain a smug smile. He couldn't wait to see Brianna's reaction when she saw him like that.

…

When he finally finished his walk, John returned home and took a hot shower to try to undo the knots that had formed at the base of his neck. He couldn't put into words how important this opportunity was. Since he decided to remain in the United States without a visa to maintain his legality, he lived with the constant feeling that everything he had built there could be taken from him without the slightest notice.  _ Would you be able to live waiting for the police to knock on your door?  _ Damn Denzell Hunter and his reasonable thinking. 

It was almost seven-thirty when he finally left home to go to the community center to teach that week's classes. This was the second week that Brianna would help him with the children and he was delighted with the sense of pride that he had introduced her to the project. Mrs. Knightley, the other collaborators and the children had adored John's “friend” (students always made quotes with their fingers when referring to Bree as his friend, as they swore they were married and kept making drawings of the two of them surrounded by pink hearts).

She had texted him that morning, saying that she had a surprise and that she would only tell what it was when she met him before class. He didn't like the strange feeling in his stomach and the way he looked forward to meeting her again.  _ She has a boyfriend, for God's sake!  _ It didn't matter if she  _ loved _ Roger Wakefield or not, they were together for some reason and he didn't think it was fair to put himself in the middle of it – at least not effectively. Flirting and teasing Brianna Fraser was inevitable, almost like an impulse so irrepressible that he didn't realize what he was doing until it was too late.

And there was Kat.

John didn't like her. He thought she was beautiful and knew that she was a good person with a good heart, but he was not attracted to her. Maybe it was pure incompatibility or something he still couldn't quite identify, but Katherine Howard was extremely boring. She was a History student, which had the potential to make her a much more interesting person than she, in fact, was. In one of his conversations with Brianna, he commented that he thought Kat was having sex with one of her NYU professors.

_ “Does that bother you?” _ Bree had asked, and John had been able to hear a muffled beep from the microwave over the call.

"I couldn't care less," he admitted, with the phone resting on his chest as he stared at the dark ceiling. Denny was sleeping and he was sure she should get some rest too, but he had discovered that he liked to call her, even if anyone with the least common sense loathed this feature of smartphones. “Am I a huge wanker?”

_ “Well, you're a man...” _ Brianna commented, seeming to smile as she spoke.  _ “It's part of your genetic material.” _

John snorted with laughter, still feeling terrible.

"We are not dating," he repeated for the twentieth time on that call. “We didn't even go out that often. She seemed slightly flustered the first week we started seeing each other, but then she seemed to get real.”

He could have sworn he heard her snort, but he wasn't entirely sure.

_ "Anyway, you need to make it clear what you want and what you don’t _ ," she instructed.  _ “We cannot be held responsible for the expectations that people place on us, but we can minimize the damage if we are honest. And, if you don't want to be a bigger asshole, you need to be honest with her.” _

"You are so smart," he had said without thinking. “Beautiful, intelligent, talented and politically correct. My God, I hate Roger.”

She hadn't bothered to answer, but he smiled as he imagined her expression at the time.

"You have a funny face," Brianna's voice beside him dragged him back to the present.

“Funny how?” He asked, looking up.

She was beautiful, as usual. Her red hair looked like flames floating slowly against the sun and the cool morning breeze. He could smell her perfume; sweet and citrus, sneaking in his direction as if to drive him crazy.

"I think it will depend on what you were thinking," she replied, sweeping her long legs over the wooden bench to sit across from him. They weren't completely alone out there, on the patio next to the basketball court, in the warm sunshine, but the students still had a few minutes to start arriving. She placed a Magnolia Bakery paper bag on the table, pushing it towards him.

"You don't want to know, love," he said, letting his accent take over the last word.

Brianna rolled her eyes and pointed at the bag.

“I hope you're hungry.”

John could smell cinnamon even through the packaging. He had eaten before leaving the house and despised cinnamon with every cell in his body, but he opened the package and took a cupcake decorated with whipped cream and a cinnamon stick.

"Hm," he said, forcing a smile.

Brianna raised her eyebrows and he took a bite, hating every second of the torturous experience of chewing and swallowing the pasty cake that formed in his mouth. She watched him, her expression suddenly impassive and he murmured yet another "Hm" in false approval.

“So?” She asked, keeping her red eyebrows raised. He realized that she wanted to laugh and frowned.

“Delicious.”

Brianna laughed.

“You hate cinnamon.”

“How do you know?” He asked, making a face.

“You posted a monologue in your Instagram stories about how, and I quote, cinnamon was one of Mother Nature's worst inventions and that everyone who disagreed with you could explode.”

John placed the cupcake on the table and crossed his arms tightly, making Brianna's eyes slide for a millisecond to his chest.

“And yet you bought me something with cinnamon?” He asked. “Why do you hate me so much, Fraser?”

Brianna smiled, indicating the bag again.

"If you weren't so flustered, I would have told you that this cupcake is mine and that yours is in the bottom of the bag," she explained, waiting while he removed another cinnamon cupcake from the top of a plastic cup. “It's banana pudding. You don't hate bananas, do you?”

"Not as much as I hate cinnamon," he murmured, reaching for the plastic spoon. “Didn't you have a surprise for me? Not that I thought that food was not a good enough surprise... Ah, you get it.”

Brianna's eyes lit up, excited.

"I talked to Emma earlier today," she began, seeming to vibrate with excitement. “You know that I can't commit to this project at the moment, at least until things get better with the gallery. I wish I could help more, but unfortunately my day has only twenty-four hours.”

“So you're breaking up with us?” He asked, placing his hand dramatically over his chest.

She rolled her eyes and continued, as if she hadn't been interrupted.

“Emma wants me to be more involved as much as I do, so we decided that I'm going to prepare workshops! It won't be frequent, but it will be a way for me to continue helping communities, regardless of my inconvenient hours.”

She waited, looking at him expectantly. John didn't know what to say, actually. He was happy and slightly emotional at the same time. That project was one of the few things that made him feel genuinely good lately. He loved those children and everything they represented for the future, not only of the United States, but of an entire generation.

“A considerable portion of the families participating in the project are illegal immigrants, did you know?” He asked cautiously, looking at her through his long lashes. “In addition to all the difficulties they already face because they were born different, these children will still need to deal with a lot.”

"I know," she replied, looking away from two twin girls, Corazon and Alma, who had left Puerto Rico less than a month ago. The yard was starting to get busier, with some kids running and screaming as they played.

“I care about them, all of them. A lot.”

"I know," she repeated, smiling.

_ Thank you _ , he thought, but didn't say it. She knew.

…

When it was the time to go to River Run Gallery, John wondered if that actually was a good idea. He was nervous and that was unquestionable, but how could he be indifferent when the big chance he had been waiting for  _ years _ finally presented itself to him, infinitely better than he had dreamed.

The Hunters – even the king of pessimism, Denny – did everything they could to make him feel better. After he returned from the community center, Denny went to the boutique to pick up the suit he had rented while Rachel took him to get a haircut with a friend of hers at a beauty salon specialized in lesbian aesthetic trends. At first, he felt extremely uncomfortable because he was invading the space of those women, but the owner of the salon was a classmate of Rachel's and offered to fix the chaos that had been installed in his scalp.

His hair was not that long – he used to let it grow longer during the fall and winter, but during the summer he preferred to make it look lighter – but it had still been over two months since he had cut it last.

“There are countless styles in the LGBTIQA universe, mainly in the lesbian community,” explained Denise, the owner of the establishment. “We focus on cuts that are considered more ‘masculine’, but those gender norms are something we’re trying to overcome. ”

In fact, when she finished, John found himself extremely similar to Ruby Rose. It was as if he were a more sophisticated and, at the same time, more modern version of himself.

Clean, dressed up and with a stomach upset with nervousness, John asked for an Uber and sent a message to Brianna.

**I’m leaving home.**

He looked at himself in the small bathroom mirror again before leaving. He wore a black turtleneck sweater under his dark red velvet suit. Denny found the style a little unorthodox, but Rachel had convinced them that it was the best option.

"You'll be surrounded by artists," she had said. “Children who were misunderstood at school, full of problems that transformed frustration into art. No matter how rich they are now, they are still the same people who were bullied at school. People like you, artists, learn not to want to go unnoticed.”

It took Brianna almost ten minutes to answer and he had to curse when he saw the message in the cell phone notification bar. John had already climbed out and got into the back of an old Honda Civic with a driver who stank of cigarettes.

**I’m leaving in half an hour.**

He looked out at the hellish traffic. It would take at least forty minutes for him to arrive in SoHo. It would take her twice as long.

**For God's sake, woman! What am I supposed to do there alone?**

The answer came faster this time.

**Networking.**

John frowned.

**I’m gonna look like an idiot.**

A car on their right honked for a long second when a couple ran past the green traffic light. He looked away at the confusion, but the device in his hand lit up again and he rolled his eyes.

**Thought you were used to it.** The message was followed by an emoji with its tongue hanging out.

_ Funny girl _ , he thought, feeling his stomach do pirouettes the rest of the way. The Uber driver dropped him off in front of the gallery and John had to take a deep breath when he saw the number of journalists around the entrance. He knew that Jocasta Cameron was influential, but he did not expect, by any means, all those people desperately wanting to register a scoop or gossip. Slipping between shoulders and elbows, he managed to get to the door where a security guard seemed to bar someone's entrance.

If John had not recognized him by the height, he would certainly have recognized him by his heavy Scottish accent.

"Listen, mate," said Roger Wakefield, clearly irritated. He wore an all-brown suit that made him look like he came out of a wardrobe smelling like mothballs. “I'm the boyfriend of Jocasta Cameron's great-niece. I don't give a damn if my name is on the list or not!”

“What's up, Josh?” Greeted John, approaching the door. Joshua was one of the employees who worked for Jocasta Cameron and they had met when John bought the portrait he had painted of Brianna to be placed in the showroom. He was too skinny to be in the security post, especially when the gatecrasher was someone as tall and solid as Roger Wakefield.

Josh looked slightly relieved.

"Mr. Grey," he said, straightening up.

Roger turned, making a face when she saw him.

“What are you doing here?” He muttered, looking him up and down. “Brianna invited  _ you _ ?”

John tried to be a mature person – most of the time – but there was something about the way Roger looked at him, as if he were an inconvenience that should be eliminated as soon as possible, that made the worst come out inside him.

"Jocasta invited me," he replied, smiling. “She said Bree needed a date.”

He saw Roger's huge hand close in a fist and lifted his chin slightly, challenging him. He didn't know how to fight, but he was sure that asshole didn't either, and that he was smart enough to realize that it wouldn't be a good idea to make a scene.

“Roger?” Both turned, surprised by Brianna's arrival.

She had arrived much earlier than John had predicted, but that detail was lost when his brain registered how magnificent she was. The dress was dark and long; it gently embraced the curves of her body, making John's fingers tingle with the urge to touch her. The cleavage exposed the white skin of her neck, taking him on a winding path until he met her eyes. There was something about her look, the way she looked from one to the other and how she seemed to notice the tension in the air, which made him want to see her without that dress desperately. She looked really sexy when she wanted to hit someone.

"I don't care," she said, glaring at them, one at a time. “I don't want to know what caused the testosterone explosion. It ends here.”

“He said...” Roger started almost purple with hate.

"I don't care what he said," Brianna interrupted, putting her arm through Roger's without a trace of affection. “It doesn't matter if you are my boyfriend, the President of the United States or the Queen of England. You have no right to appear in places without being invited, but since you are here, try to behave yourself.” She turned to John. “You didn't come here to make a scene, did you? It is better to start making contacts or this whole event won’t do you any good.”

Josh, who was the very face of awkwardness, grinned when Brianna turned to him.

"Sorry about this mess, Josh," she asked, making him look even more bewildered. “It's all right.”

The security guard nodded, releasing the passage for the three to enter. There, together at the gallery doors, John thought he must have looked pretty ridiculous. The truth was, Brianna and Roger were together and he was just an inconvenience. Yes, he knew that she was attracted to him and that, if the situation were different, they probably would have already done much more than just flirting, but the reality was quite another.

He saw her drag Roger through the gallery, both of them looking quite irritated, until people disappeared from one side to the other. He took a glass of champagne from a waiter who passed him and turned it all over, trying to muster up the courage to change his own life. Jocasta Cameron had her sunglasses and was next to Ulysses, her faithful squire that John had met the same day he was introduced to Joshua. Stephen Bonnet was also there, with a glass that John believed was full of whiskey.

With great difficulty, he plunged into the crowd and tried to do what Brianna had told him to. He had never been an extrovert, but he had never had a problem communicating either. However, in the midst of so many people he knew and admired, John couldn't help feeling intimidated and extremely aware of how far down he was on that social scale.

Regardless of who was speaking, the question about how he met Jocasta and what he did in the art business always came up and he felt his heart sink to his stomach whenever he said he was a freelance artist, but he was willing to look for partnerships. No one liked to sound like they were begging for anything, much less feeling humiliated, and at that moment, John was trying with all his might to demonstrate that he was not a failure, but a rising artist.

Gerald Forbes, one of New York's most influential art buyers, was accompanied by a woman who looked much like him. Both low and quite pompous. John approached, wondering if trying to talk to Forbes was taking a step longer than his leg could carry him.

"I don't get why all the fuss over a family exhibition," Forbes said to the woman John was almost sure was his sister. “I understand this place is about to go bankrupt and, if we are lucky, it will happen soon, but base an event like thus on something that her  _ niece _ made...”

John stopped where he was, glaring at the bastard. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Ulysses appeared beside him, with Jocasta holding his arm. Jocasta's assistant also looked at Gerald Forbes with a hard expression.

“John,” called the owner of all that space, holding out her hand for him to greet her. “I didn't know you had arrived.”

“You were busy with Mr. Bonnet, Mrs. Cameron,” he replied, hoping she didn't hear the discomfort in his voice. “I didn't mean to disturb you.”

Jocasta Cameron talked a lot by looking, even if her sight was compromised. Now, recovering from the surgery and needing to wear sunglasses at all times, he didn't quite know what she was thinking.

“If you are looking for Brianna...”

“She's with Mr. Wakefield, yes,” she replied, not hiding the disgust in her voice. “Stephen told me that he met him at the gallery doors a few days ago when he came to see me and ended up commenting on Brianna needing a companion for the event.”

“Why would he do that?” Asked John, starting to loathe the man.

"To destabilize my niece, of course," said Jocasta, as if that were obvious. “I made the mistake of talking to him about how unhappy Brianna was with her bad choice for a boyfriend.”

“Sorry to ask, Mrs. Cameron, but why do you still work with this man if you know how treacherous he is?”

Ulysses straightened up, looking at something over John's shoulders. He wanted to turn to see what had happened, but Ulysses leaned over Jocasta with less than professional intimacy and whispered something in her ear.

"Ah yes, let them come," she said and, turning to John, added, "I keep my friends close, my dear, but not as close as my enemies."

“Jocasta!” Gerald Forbes called, approaching with a smile on his face. “What a beautiful event! The champagne is excellent. I can't wait to see what you and your niece have been up to.”

“Gerald,” Jocasta smiled, having her hand kissed by the man. “Always very charming.”

“How are you, Ulysses?”

“Very well, Mr. Forbes,” unlike Jocasta, Ulysses did not need to wear a social mask. He didn't smile, but he didn't make a disapproving face either, he just remained impassive beside his boss.

"John, dear," Jocasta said. “Can you find Brianna, please? It's time.”

John nodded and immediately wondered if she could see him.

“Of course, Mrs. Cameron.”

Finding Brianna had not been so difficult, after he had eliminated all floors and rooms. It was kind of obvious, actually, and he felt stupid for not thinking about it before. She was in the heart of the gallery, in the circular room where the exhibition was about to take place.

"Your aunt said it's time," he commented, afraid that she might be mad at him, poking his head through the opening of the door.

Brianna turned, almost glowing with the orange aura that surrounded her. It was almost eight in the evening and the sun was starting to set, flooding the room with coppery rays that made her shine like a Viking goddess. Her hair seemed to be on fire, burning everything around her. The mirrors, of different sizes, shapes and heights, reflected the lights and he couldn't help but think of the famous  _ Galerie des Glaces _ in Versailles. In the center of the room, the portrait he had painted. He had signed the work as William Armstrong, an easy pseudonym since they were part of his Christian name.

"Sorry about earlier," she said, without approaching.

"You were right," he said, shrugging. His body was still half in and half out of the room, but he feared what would happen if he closed that door behind him. He wanted to kiss her  _ so badly _ . “I shouldn't have teased Roger.”

"He shouldn't be here," she said irritably. “Excuse me. I'm just nervous.”

“You'll rock, you know.”

“I hope you're right.”

“I almost always am.”

She rolled her eyes and he almost felt the tension in his shoulders unravel.

"You cut your hair," she said, the shadow of a smile dancing on her lips. “I prefer it bigger.”

"That's what she said," he said, smiling too. “Where is he?”

“Who?”

“Roger.”

Brianna frowned.

"Probably after Catwoman," she murmured and looked up, not giving him time to ask what she meant. “I'm ready, send them in.”

…

Brianna not only looked like a goddess, she also behaved like one. When the doors to the round room opened and the New York elite, together with the journalists, finally set eyes on the MacKenzie-Fraser project, everyone felt the power of Brianna's magnetic field over the environment. Everyone was amazed, walking around the room while watching their expressions in the various mirrors. John stood by the door, watching her like a viewer watching their favorite movie.

There were many people around the portrait he had painted, and even from a distance, he could see expressions of approval. He felt as if an immense weight had been lifted off his shoulders. People really seemed to be enjoying his art.

"River Run Gallery is one of the most important things for me," began Brianna, making everyone look at her. John scanned the crowd, watching for everyone's expressions. Roger didn't seem to be there. “This haven of art was born from the love of two incredible women for the purest way of expressing themselves. I am here today, in my first exhibition, because many incredible women have allowed me to get here. Artists, doctors, teachers, engineers... Everyone in this room needed the support of extraordinary women to get here. These women, immortalized through art, are the ones who inspire me every day so that I can achieve my goals.” She made a broad movement with her arm, indicating the pictures hanging on the walls. “Who are the women who inspire you? This project was born out of my desire to honor the important women in my life, but I could never limit this exposure to just them. All of you are incredible, regardless of the factors, birth or fate, that made you who you are today. So, when you look at your reflection in the mirror, I hope you can see how extraordinary you are. Cheers to us.”

She lifted her champagne glass and all the women present repeated the movement, toasting. A burst of applause rocked River Run Gallery and John joined the choir, unable to stop smiling with pride.

Jocasta approached her niece, smiling and clapping too.

“I would like to take this moment to announce that River Run Gallery will start financing young artists at the Fulton Park Community Center,” John stood up, feeling a wave of tension run down his spine. Jocasta Cameron did not seem to be the type of woman who cared about charitable causes, only, of course, when those causes benefited herself. He saw all the journalists with their cell phones ready, recording everything for the gossip pages. For some reason, it infuriated him. Jocasta was taking advantage of a cause to promote herself. “After my surgery, I can't help but connect with the stories of those children.”

John looked at Brianna and saw that she looked as exasperated as he felt. She held his gaze, as if she wanted to make it clear that she was not part of that whole circus.

“My niece, Brianna, told me about how important it is to help others and we both need to thank the one who opened our eyes – John, are you there?”

Brianna held her breath and he felt short of breath himself. Ulysses bowed to Jocasta once more and whispered something in her ear. As if she could see him perfectly, she reached for the door and everyone turned to face him.

He just stood there. Too astonished to know what to do. He knew he had to get out of there, but how to do that without ruining Brianna's night. The camera flashes blinded him for an instant.  _ Don't you know the risk that this reputation can bring you? Could you live your whole life waiting for the police to knock on your door? _

That was the exact reason he had not accepted Jocasta Cameron's offer. He didn't want unwanted attention.

It was too late now. That circus that Brianna's aunt had set up would be on all the gossip portals in a few minutes. His face would be there too, for everyone to see if they questioned his identity.

"Thank you for reminding us of the importance of helping others," said Jocasta, turning everyone's attention back to her.

John felt that his chest was about to explode and he sucked in the air loudly, remembering to breathe. The blood seemed to roar in his ears as he imagined all the scenarios in which he was arrested, deported or exposed on national television as an illegal immigrant who had tried to take advantage of an arts tycoon. As the panic grew, all he had managed to do was turn on his heel and shoot towards the exit.


	10. 9. DOOMSDAY

**BRIANNA**

Brianna was sure of two things. The first one: Roger was cheating on her.

The moment she received the text, she thought for a few minutes that perhaps he had  _ intentionally _ sent it to her. She stared at her cell phone, having no reaction but to blink.  _ How _ could that have been intentional, if she hadn't even let him touch her for  _ days _ ?

**I can't wait to tie you to my desk and make you beg for me.**

Which, of course, she only managed to answer with:

**I beg your pardon???????????????**

She still felt that the number of question marks she had typed was not enough to express how perplexed she was.

She was a virgin, but she wasn’t a nun: she knew exactly what sexting and sex calls were. Even though she had never done that with Roger and never even given him the freedom to think they could do it, it didn't mean that she had never done it with her ex boyfriends (she avoided thinking about it at all costs, obviously. It was too embarrassing and there was a reason for them to be  _ exes _ ). Her intuition was practically confirmed by Roger himself, who, many minutes after typing and retyping the text, sent a lame excuse as if he were desperate to change the subject. It would have had the same effect if he had simply sent "sorry, that was meant to be sent to the other girl".

And there was really another one. Bree told the story to Lizzie and Marsali, who went to sleep in her apartment that day. The two of them were shocked, at the same time that they shot phrases like “I always knew he was rubbish” and similar stuff. Marsali took her laptop out of the bag and hacked his iCloud in ten minutes. Brianna was shocked and asked, "Did you learn to do this in college?"

"No, I learned from life," Marsali replied, which would have made Bree laugh had it not been completely anticlimactic. "My goodness!" the blonde then exclaimed, causing Brianna and Lizzie to join her, one on each side, to look at the computer screen.

There was Roger's chat list. Just below the conversation with Brianna was a person whose contact he had saved as a cat emoji with a naughty smile.

"This guy is absolutely disgusting in every way," Marsali exclaimed, eyes wide and a mixture of fury and disgust in her expression. “He didn't even put her name! Okay, that would be a lot more obvious, but  _ pussy _ ? Couldn't you objectify her more?”

Their conversations could be summed up in the example Roger had sent to Bree. And, apparently, she was content to fulfill the role by sending several nudes without showing her face. Well, maybe that had been his own order. She could only think of the fact that even though she was only seeing pictures that didn't even show the girl's face, she was completely the opposite of Brianna. She appeared to be short and delicate, the body of a preteen who had not gone through puberty – small breasts, small hips, slim legs – looked extremely  _ wrong _ with cheap Victoria's Secret lingerie. Bree felt guilty for thinking that right away, she wouldn't feel any better projecting her own insecurities on that girl. After all, despite being conniving, it was not her fault. Marsali decided to close the computer when the three of them agreed that they were going to be sick if one of  _ his _ nudes popped up in the conversation.

And here came the second thing that Brianna was sure: Roger was cheating on her, and  _ she couldn't care less. _

Of course, she was angry. Why did he need to have both? One to have with sex and one to show off – was that all they were for him? She had always felt as if Roger saw her more as a prize than a person in a relationship, and maybe that was why he hadn't broken up with her before, even though he realized she was no longer in the mood for him,  _ if _ she had ever been. He was disgusting and had proven that, contrary to what she had thought until then, he was  _ not _ a good person. However, at the same time, Brianna had never been cheated on (at least, not that she was aware), but she knew that she should at least feel a little sad and hurt – and all she could feel was a twinge of  _ relief _ .

Being a human form of trash, he had finally set her free. No one would forgive cheating, not even Claire. She was sure her mother would be furious at the thought of Roger hurting her, even though she wasn't hurt at all – but Claire didn't need to know that, right?

Besides, she had other things more important to worry about than Roger and their failed relationship, like her job: at Cooper & Clarkson  _ and _ at the gallery. Until the charity's opening event finally came, she would not allow herself to spend energy on anything else. She was nervous and anxious enough. First she would solve the most important problem – the legacy of her grandmother and auntie Jo – and then she would get rid of Roger. Simple like that.

At least that was what she thought until she arrived at the gallery and saw the last person she wanted to see that day or any other day in her life. She had a temper, but it was necessary to take her completely out of her mind so that she would feel angry like  _ that _ – the blurred vision, the slight tremor in her entire body and the feeling that her head was on fire. It was Roger's lucky day, because she wasn't going to make a scene and ruin everything she had worked for in the past few weeks, no matter how furious she was – that was the only reason she wouldn't punch the cheater in the middle of the sidewalk. She felt a little guilty about taking part of her anger out on John, but he deserved it.  _ Men _ , it was the only thing she could think of, which seemed like an insult worthy of the two idiots.

“Do you want to explain what made you think you were welcome here?” Brianna snarled, when she finally managed to find a corner of the gallery that had no one around. Roger's shocked face would have been funny if she hadn't been hating him so much at the time.

_ Idiot. Disgusting lying cheating idiot… _

“What?” He asked. For God's sake, did he think she was stupid? “ _ I’m _ your boyfriend!  _ I  _ have every right to be here, because it’s your exhibition, and I...”

“You’re right,” she said. “It’s my exhibition, so stop trying to make it about  _ you _ . If I wanted you to be here, I would have invited you. Are you too stupid to understand it yourself or you just don't care?”

He took a step forward, approaching her menacingly with an angry look. Brianna didn't flinch or walk away, just clenched her fists, focusing on the uncomfortable little pain her nails caused in the palm of her hand instead of her urge to scream.

"Don't talk to me like that," he snarled.

“We both know that being ‘my boyfriend’ wasn't enough for you, was it?” She countered, making the disgust evident in her voice.

For the first time in that conversation, Roger looked truly surprised. He paled and she could see the fear in his green eyes, even though he blinked afterwards trying to disguise it in an unintentional way.

“What do you mean?”

"You know exactly what I mean," Brianna replied immediately. She realized that he was swallowing and for a second she felt victorious for leaving him speechless, but the only thing that could make her feel better was if he disappeared in front of her, as soon as possible. “Let me tell you what you’re going to do now: you’re going to get out of here, and you’re going home, or anywhere, I don’t care. I don't care what you're going to do as long as you're away from here, because I'm  _ not _ going to let you ruin this night for me. Do you understand?”

Roger looked at Brianna like he was going to spit in her face. She couldn't believe how hypocritical he could be.

“You don't know what you're doing.”

"I know," she said. "But like I said, you're not going to ruin this night for me. Nothing will. We are going to talk tomorrow,” she warned. “Go away now and try not to look like a spoiled child while you’re at it.” She said, forcing a smile as she looked over her shoulder at the other guests. The place was getting crowded and she would keep up appearances, no matter how uncomfortable she was feeling.

For someone who had taken the trouble to go there, Roger wasn’t very insistent. After Brianna's ultimatum, he did exactly what he was told.

She took a deep breath, maintaining her posture. She smiled. She greeted people.  _ Nothing is going to ruin this day for me,  _ she repeated in her mind, over and over.

She really had no idea what to expect for the rest of that night.

John. Heavens, she had barely been able to concentrate on his appearance in the midst of her outbreak of rage, so when he appeared in the showroom, looking for her, she felt a twinge in her chest that she wasn't sure if it was guilt or another strange effect that he caused her. Suddenly, she could fully understand what the person who had invented the expression “so beautiful it hurts” meant.

She didn't mean it when she talked about his haircut, of course. Well, maybe a little – she liked his hair a little longer and secretly felt like running her fingers over that naturally messy tuft she had grown used to, but there was that new, refined and elegant version of him that almost intimidated her. Brianna felt so stupid for thinking about it, but luckily for her, she would be too busy to afford to think about John.

At least, that was what she imagined.

The moment Auntie Jo started speaking after her speech – the moment she said the name of the community center, more specifically – Brianna felt short of breath. She had commented on the days she had volunteered after John made her fall in love with that project, of course, but she thought that would be the kind of subject that Auntie Jo just pretended to care about while they talked, but that she would soon forget for finding that completely irrelevant in her life.

Hurt was the first thing she felt – even though she had talked about John, Brianna was not buying that act from Jocasta. She didn’t bother to do things that wouldn’t benefit her directly, Bree knew that very well. It was unfair that she had used something like the community center to put herself in the spotlight again.

She stared at John before everyone turned to him, so she had enough time to absorb all the expressions that passed over his face. Maybe no one had noticed, but she  _ knew _ him, even though not for long. It was there in his eyes and in his jaw and in the tension in his shoulders, she could read it like an open book. A mixture of various feelings – perhaps anger and shock standing out among those she couldn't quite identify.

She had enough time to stare at him before he turned to leave.

For a few seconds, she was so surprised by his reaction that she froze. She blinked several times, trying to assimilate, as if someone had just thrown a bucket of cold water at her.

And then she went after him.

The rational side of her brain seemed to scream in horror.  _ What the hell do you think you're doing? You can't go out, this is your work, this is Auntie Jo's gallery – no matter how angry you are with her. She is family. John is… _

Her thoughts could not complete the sentence. It didn't matter. Brianna needed to talk to him, needed to clear things up, needed to know that he wasn't angry at her.

Of course, nobody else knew what was going on inside her head, so the moment she tried to get close to the door she was interrupted several times – by journalists, art critics, influencers, socialites and a lot of other people she didn't want to have to deal with at that moment. Every time someone stopped her to praise her, to ask for a photo or for a short interview, she cast an anguished look in the direction of the doors. Each time someone approached her, she felt John moving further away from the gallery, and she had no idea where he could have gone. She didn't even know where he lived, for God's sake.

She was almost at the door when the cell phone started to vibrate inside her purse. She would have ignored that call, but her instincts said she should take it. Lizzie's name on the screen made her frown.

“What happened?” Lizzie asked when she answered the call.

“Lizzie, this is not a good time...” she started, interrupting herself when she realized what her friend had said. “What do you mean ‘what happened’? You called me!”

"I meant," Lizzie started, "that I just met John Grey at the Broadway fair with Reade Street. I would recognize that jawline anywhere and,  _ fuck,  _ he looked so hot in that red suit. But I know he was supposed to be hot there with you, and besides looking like he had just seen someone die, he was kind of a dick to me. Then something really bad must have happened.”

Brianna let out a relieved breath before pushing on the gallery door and passing by a confused Josh when he saw her leave.

"Lizzie, you're an angel," she said. "I don't know what I would do without you. I need to hang up now, but I promise to explain everything tomorrow. Breakfast at my house, all right?”

“Ugh. Okay,” Lizzie said, clearly unhappy about having to wait until tomorrow to hear the gossip, but Brianna needed to use Google Maps.

She put the address of the fair where Lizzie had mentioned. It wasn't that far, the app estimated a ten-minute walk – that would actually be fifteen, since it wasn't so easy to walk with a long dress and uncomfortable shoes. She could only pray that John decided to stay there, because she doubted that he would answer her if she risked calling him.

“Miss Bree!” she heard Ulysses' voice when she was at the end of the block. She immediately turned and forced a smile, but she thought that her ability to mask feelings only worked to a certain extent. “What happened?”

“Ulysses, I'll be right back,” she promised. “You can come back and keep my aunt company, if she asks for me, tell her that I'll be back in minutes. I swear.” Her voice had a slight tremor of despair. “But right now you need to let me solve a little problem, okay?”

It took Ulysses a few seconds to respond, giving her a suspicious look before shaking his head to nod. She smiled again before turning her back on him and walking on, following the directions the map gave her.

She was feeling extremely tired when she finally found the fair that Lizzie had talked about – those outdoor fairs were common in Manhattan and she was betting that this one, being in SoHo, should be the meeting place for all the vegan-organic-hipster-rich people who lived in the area. She excused herself from tourists and shoppers while trying to find John, even though she didn't think he had decided to take out his anger on shopping. She noticed that at the back of the square where the fair stands were, there were some trees and little lighting. It seemed like the perfect place to hide and it was her best option at that moment.

Brianna let out another sigh of relief when she saw John’s back, sitting on the concrete garden bed that surrounded one of the trees.

“John!” she exclaimed, and the sound of Brianna's voice made him immediately stand up, turning to her. “What happened?”

Okay, stupid question. She was there. She had seen what had happened.

“Did you know she was going to do that?”

“What?” She frowned. She felt a pang of hurt that he could even think that of her “Of course not! I would never have agreed to that kind of thing and you  _ know _ it. Don’t you?”

He did not answer. Instead, he pressed his lips together, as if he needed all the self-control in the world not to say what he really wanted.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. It's done.”

"Yes," she said, without knowing exactly why he was so furious. She was starting to get scared. “Look, if you're afraid that immigration control will find out about the children at the community center... I bet it won't happen. You know what the types of people in the gallery now are like. They don't care about anything but themselves, they won't bother to look for something about the cause or...”

John let out a humorless, almost sarcastic laugh. Brianna stopped talking.

“I wasn't thinking about that,” he confessed “and now I'm feeling even worse.”

“I know it was ridiculous,” she said, approaching him “And I understand that you’re angry. I really do. But please... don't let my aunt's greed and need for attention diminish the importance of this night for you and your career. You need to go back there, take the opportunity...”

"Brianna," John said seriously, and she felt chills. She wasn't sure if it was because of his tone of voice or because fall had officially started and the temperature was actually lower and she was wearing nothing but a dress of fine fabric that left several parts of her body uncovered, but she would bet money on the first option. “I can't go back there.”

“Why not?” She asked immediately. But she had the answer the second the words left her lips, the same second his eyes found hers.

And she had all the answers. As if a puzzle had been solved magically in her head, a puzzle she didn't know existed until then.

"Because," he began, even though something on his face said he knew Brianna knew, "I'm not here legally."

Her mouth opened slightly even though nothing came out of it, not even air. Bree felt as if her blood pressure had suddenly dropped – and felt terribly selfish about it.

Her parents were immigrants in the United States, as was her brother. Just like Marsali. Just like that bastard Roger, and millions of other people on that island. She had enough knowledge of her country's political and social scenario to know that being in that situation was never easy for anyone, and that she would never fully understand them and could only use her privileges to try to help the people who needed her to do something – even if the most she could do was vote for politicians who did not see immigrants as inferior to Americans. Brianna would never judge anyone for immigrating illegally – first, because that was not her place to speak, and second, because the reasons why someone left their country of origin behind were none of her business. Some fled tragic scenarios, others simply looked for a better life opportunity – It was not up to her to judge anyone's life decisions.

At that moment, however, the only thing she felt was terribly helpless.

“Oh,” was what she managed to answer, thinking she needed to sit down immediately.

“Does that change anything for you?” John asked, almost defiantly.

“Of course not!” She replied. She would have almost convinced herself if it weren't for the hesitation in her voice, which John heard too.

It didn't change the way she saw him, but suddenly she was filled with a suffocating sense of panic. The thought of John being discovered and deported made her legs tremble, but she didn't want to let that show.

However, her reaction apparently gave him another impression.

"It doesn't change anything," John said, taking long strides toward her. There was something in his tone, as if he was struggling to sound so right, that made her startle. She was startled by how close he was getting to her. “I’m still me.”

He held her face in his hands, and she understood what he was going to do in time to turn her face to the side.

The apparent rejection did not cause John to move away from her. He remained there, as close as they had been in that claustrophobic hallway of the bar, holding her face in his hands, breathing in her hair. She could feel his hands touching her, cold and shaking.

"I want to," Brianna confessed, whispering. She could hardly believe that she had actually said that. “You know I do. But not like this.”

_ I don't want you to kiss me to try to prove a point, or when you're so out of your mind that you can barely think. I want you to kiss me because you want to. Because you like me. _

Those words she swallowed.

“How did this happen?” She tried to sound as calm as possible, trying to avoid another explosion, while gently holding his wrists, causing him to release her. Brianna expected him to look up at her, but instead, he closed his eyes. “John.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he started, but he should know that she could be stubborn and insistent when she wanted to. “I couldn't renew my visa after finishing college, and I couldn't go back to London. It seemed to make sense.”

"My God," she blurted out. She thought that, at that point, her mental filter was no longer working. She covered her face with her hands for a few seconds, then rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “I can't believe…”

" _ Don't  _ you give me a lecture about how to live my life," John snapped, and it was the first time she heard that tone from him. She stopped talking, too shocked to do anything. “God, I'm an idiot. How could I expect you to understand? Your life was so perfect that you had to make a list of a hundred stupid things to try to feel better about yourself, and you couldn't even do  _ that _ .”

His words hit her like they were acid. She felt her teeth chattering and tears welling up in her eyes made her vision blurred.

“Yes,” she replied, transferring the hurt she was feeling to a disgusted tone of voice. “You really are an idiot.”

She turned on her back and felt John grab her by the wrist before she could walk away. She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes, feeling tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Bree," he said quietly.

Brianna rubbed the back of her free hand on both cheeks before turning back to him, because she refused to put herself in a vulnerable position in front of him again. He had already ridiculed her enough for one night.

"I didn't mean that," John said. “Yes, I'm an idiot, but I'm scared. I’m sorry.”

She didn't want to forgive him. She wanted to curse him, say that he could explode and get out of there to try to enjoy something that evening that  _ should _ have been special. But she couldn't. Not because she was weak or had little willpower, but because she knew he was really sorry.

"It's okay," Brianna said. She tried to sound confident, but her voice came out as a whisper, choked. She took a deep breath and continued. “I'm going to fix this, somehow. Don't worry,” she said, even though obviously neither of them would stop worrying; “Auntie Jo knows exactly how to make things be about her, this won't be a problem. I'm sure she can make your name and photos disappear of it all, I'll make sure of that.”

Somehow her words seemed to have a calming effect on him, as far as possible. Brianna noticed that he didn't let go of her arm, and John's hand slid through hers until he intertwined their fingers. She wanted to let go, wanted to get away from him.

Again, she failed.

"You're freezing," said John. Brianna had suddenly forgotten how cold she was, but in that second she realized that, in fact, she had goosebumps all over her body. “Come on. I’ll take you back to the gallery.”

…

“Illegal?” Lizzie asked, sitting on the bed next to Bree. She shook her head to agree, feeling unwilling to speak after telling her the whole story. “Holy shit.”

It made Bree giggle, nervously.

“Indeed.”

“I know you're worried because you like him...”

"I don't like him  _ that _ way," Brianna interrupted. It was only partly a lie.

She knew that whatever she felt for John went far beyond her desire for him. They had only known each other for a month, but for someone so reserved, John had become a consuming force in her world, an important part of her days, whether they were working together in the gallery and in the community center or simply talking on the phone. How could she just get used to the idea that he could be in danger every day – with the prospect of never seeing him again?

“Whatever you say to make yourself feel better, honey,” Lizzie rolled her eyes sarcastically before continuing. “But seriously, I think you should be calm and stop thinking about the worst. I mean, this is New York! At least half of the people who live here are illegal immigrants, and most of them have been here for more years than you are alive. Look at Monika, for example...”

It was Brianna's turn to roll her eyes. She already knew the story of Monika Berrisch-Wemyss, Lizzie's German stepmother who had moved to the United States ten years before meeting Mr. Wemyss. Monika worked as a waitress in the restaurant where Mr. Wemyss ate lunch every day and one thing led to another – but Lizzie occasionally insisted on the theory that Monika had only married her father to get the green card and an US citizenship instead of believing that she had actually fallen in love with Joseph.

"Okay, I know that stuff," Bree said, getting out of bed and standing up. She went to the wardrobe and opened it in silence, determined that it was time to get out of her pajamas and leave the house.

“Um, where are you going?” Lizzie wanted to know.

"I'm going to break up with Roger," Brianna said as she took off her shirt. She had not yet decided how she was going to confront him about the cheating without mentioning Marsali hacking his cell phone, but she could only hope that the fact that he sent the wrong message to her was a good enough argument. Anyway, it didn't matter. She would be single by the end of that Sunday.

“I think this should be the best day of my life,” Lizzie said “but I'm confused. Why today specifically?”

"Because I need to focus on something, anything, other than John Grey," Brianna replied, pulling on her pants. “I promise I won't be long. Or at least I'll try. You can order anything you want for lunch, okay?”

“Thai food!” Lizzie exclaimed, happy as a child at Disneyland. “I'll try to save some for you.”

Brianna didn't bother putting on any makeup for the super special event that was her breakup, even though she was awake most of the night and that was evident on her face. She combed her hair, still straightened since the day before, and put on a cardigan before picking up her things to leave the house.

Just as she was about to open the door, she almost laughed wryly when her cell phone started to ring. She had just said that she needed to focus on anything but him and, like magic, he decided to call her.

Bree didn't know what exactly she was feeling when she saw John's name on her cell phone screen. Perhaps it was relief, she wondered. After he left her at the gallery and left, she considered for some time that perhaps that was the last time they would see each other – the last time he would talk to her. In fact, she thought about it for most of the sleepless night.

"Hey," she said as she answered, her voice cautious. She was afraid that she might say something that would make him walk away again, avoiding her forever. “Is everything okay?”

"I was thinking of a way to say this without sounding like I'm a complete lunatic," he started. It wasn't exactly an answer to her question, but Brianna felt her heart racing.

_ For God's sake, what's going on? _ If life was a Lifetime movie or a low-budget TV show, that was the moment when the good guy declared to the girl that he was in love with her from the moment they first saw each other or any shitty cliché like that.

She tried to seem cool, even though he couldn't see her face at that moment. She didn't want to feed the stupid theories in her brain, but nothing could have prepared her for what John would say next.

“It's Roger,” he said. “Katherine is sleeping with Roger.”


	11. 10. A BLESSING IN DISGUISE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! Sorry it took us so long to finally start with these notes but, to be honest, we are still trying to figure out how this website works 🤪 anyways, we just wanted to thank everyone who’s been reading so far, we’ve reached more than 1k views, that’s awesome! And a special thank you to everyone who’s leaving comments — we LOVE to know your thoughts and feedback!! Hope you enjoy the chapter and please let us know what you think 💓

**JOHN**

That morning, no officer came to his door to take him to the police station. It was early morning, he knew that, but his brain had not stopped working since last night, hammering insistently around catastrophic scenarios that were likely to unfold as a result of his recklessness. He shouldn't have told his secret, it was stupid and naive, but a part of him – and it didn't matter that part sounded extremely silly and childish – knew he could trust Brianna Fraser.

There were also her words. The way her response had enveloped him in a haze of hope and, in a way, desire.  _ I want to _ , she had said.  _ You know I do. _ He did know, but hearing it was almost as intoxicating as good wine. It was sweet, too, and strangely addictive. She wanted him – most likely nowhere near as intensely as  _ he _ wanted her, but it was something. There is something magical about knowing that your desire for someone is reciprocated. Human beings, like the sensory specimens they are, manage to demonstrate this feeling in several ways. None, however, was as effective as admitting it out loud.

So, after leaving her at River Run Gallery, John went to the subway station. He didn't know what had taken him there, other than his subconscious retracing his steps since the day he met that woman; redheaded and powerful as a goddess. New York never slept, but even the subway managed to be less chaotic at times. He sat on one of the benches, analyzing the reduced flow of people with an almost professional curiosity. He didn't know why he did it, but imagining other people's lives seemed to help him find consistency in his own. What problems did they face? Which expression marks were caused by age and which were a consequence of the stress caused by the adversities present in daily life? How much information was hidden in their expressions, their mannerisms and the way they walked?

It was quite late when he saw the couple. They were in the poorly lit part of the station and John understood the reason for the strategic choice of the location. The young woman was sitting on her partner's lap and, even with all the distance between him and the couple, it was possible to see her moving her hips in the direction of the hand that disappeared under her skirt. It was impossible to see her face, as well as his, but the slow movements they made told a story he shouldn't be reading. He thought about getting up and leaving, feeling like a perverted  _ voyeur _ who shouldn't be there, even though  _ they _ shouldn't be doing it there. He realized that, from where the couple was, behind one of the pillars, no one who descended towards the station could see them.

He was about to get up when he finally understood why the couple caught his eye in the first place. John paid a lot of attention to details, it was part of his job as an artist. Although protected by the irregular lighting of the farthest corner of the station, he still managed to distinguish Katherine Howard's silhouette. There was no way to be sure, since she was extremely similar – physically, at least – to any other short blonde girl who seemed to exist in droves in New York.

John wondered if that guy was the professor she was sleeping with, but, again, he was surprised by his own lack of interest in knowing more about her. They had no obligations to each other, they didn't even go out that often, but he knew what he had to do. His memory wandered, almost instinctively, towards the fair where he and Brianna almost kissed. She wouldn't have him without working things out with Roger before and he knew he should do the same. Being as discreet as possible, he rose to the surface again and inhaled a great breath of icy air, feeling his thoughts melt and slide through his nostrils when he exhaled. The distance to Dumbo was huge, but he walked most of the way before taking a taxi, enjoying the New York night as he used to. Like an incoherent and chaotic soundtrack, playing in the furthest part of his mind.

…

He didn't sleep, obviously. His brain had decided to relive the last hours of his night, flooding him with an almost suffocating mix of information that he did not know how to process and let alone deal with. He was terrified, how could he not be? The only ones who knew about his immigration problem were the Hunters and John trusted them with his life. What kind of spell had Brianna Fraser put on him to make him blindly trust her after just a few weeks of friendship? He couldn't tell Denny any of that, of course, or he was going to have a psychotic break that was exactly what John needed the least.

There was also the overwhelming sensation that seemed to want to make his lips tingle with the urge to kiss that woman, tear her out of that dress and kiss every inch of her exposed skin. He knew that, when it came to Brianna, there were a multitude of things he would have liked to hear her say, but the greatest of all was his longing to see her begging for  _ more _ .

The sun had already risen, but he knew it was not socially acceptable to show up at someone's home so early, especially on a Sunday. Thinking about it, he got up and brushed his teeth, getting ready to make breakfast before Denny and Willie woke up. When everyone was on their feet and – more or less – willing to go on with their lives, he made them all concentrate on cleaning. Although small, their apartment seemed to accumulate an almost petulant amount of dust.

If Denzell noticed his unease, he decided to ignore it and focused on borrowing the vacuum cleaner on the stained wooden floor. Willie hated being locked up while they cleaned up, but hearing his furious barking was more tolerable than watching him roll through the dirt as a way to challenge his owners and prove his dominance.

"Alright, Monica Geller," Denny said, waving the dishcloth as John finished doing the pile of dishes. “Will you tell me what happened or should I assume the worst?”

John just shrugged, dismissing the matter as if it wasn't important. He didn't want to tell him about the community center and he couldn't tell about the photos and stories that were probably running on the internet with his face and his name.

“What happened to the ‘most important night of your life’?” He asked, making quotation marks with his fingers. “Did you meet someone important? Did they like the exhibition? Did you get a lifetime contract with a sponsor? Oh, my God, you signed a contract with the rich old lady!”

"No," John assured him, rolling his eyes and handing him a pot to dry. “I just…”

“You just...”

"Are you going to shut up and let me continue?"

“Are you going to take your cock out of your mouth and say all at once like a normal human being or am I going to have to wait for the gossip to arrive in parts?”

He stared at his friend, with an expression that could only be defined as a silent version of the phrase:  _ What the fuck? _

“Please?” Asked Denny, smiling.

"I almost kissed Brianna," John admitted, watching his friend intently for a reaction.

“The girl who has a boyfriend?”

“That one.”

“Define ‘almost’, please.”

“Oh, the usual. I approached, she swerved. You know, the usual.”

"Hm," Denny shook his head thoughtfully. “At least she's faithful.”

“And she doesn't even like her boyfriend.”

“Did she tell you that?” He raised an eyebrow.

"Some things are pretty obvious," said John, shrugging.

"Especially when we want them to be," said Denny, placing the pot in the cupboard.

"She said she wanted to," insisted John. “Kiss me, I mean. But she couldn't, not that way.”

“Well, extra points for self-control. How did she manage to resist the charms of John William Bertram Armstrong Grey? Sometimes even I find it hard not to want to sit on your lap,” he mocked, laughing.

"Anyway, I'm going to talk to Katherine today," he announced, ignoring the ironic comment and turning off the tap after taking the soap out of his hands. “I'm pretty sure I saw her fucking her professor on the subway station last night, but I still need to say that we can't see each other anymore.”

“What?” Asked Denny, exasperated. His eyes were wide with horror. “How do you know she is sleeping with her professor?”

"She mentioned that she had a new History professor," John told him. “Then she started disappearing for hours and reappeared saying that she had been stuck in college because the professor had given her many extra exercises. I never asked the reason for the disappearances, but she seemed to feel the need to explain herself.”

Denny nodded, urging him to continue.

“After a few weeks of this, I even commented that she needed to be careful because this professor might be wanting to take advantage of her. She has never mentioned that professor since,” John scratched his stubble thoughtfully. “At first I thought she was offended and I even considered apologizing, but she ended up calling me for coffee a few days later and I saw the hickey on her neck.”

“A hickey? How old is she, thirteen?”

"My point, exactly," agreed John. “She was either hooking up with a classmate or a perverted old man. I think the second option is more dramatic.”

“She was screwing an  _ old man _ ? My God, how far do people go to get good grades?”

John raised both eyebrows.

“Wouldn't you?”

“Have sex with a teacher? Of course not,” Denny looked outraged.

“Not even if it was that hot doctor you like?”

Denzell seemed to choke on his own saliva. He was in love with a famous forensic doctor from Boston and used to talk about her all the time when they started living together. John never paid attention to the monologues about Dr. Foizer's exemplary work and Denny never gave much details about the woman, because he was a bit of a jealous fan.

“You know what, Grey? Go break up with your big-headed girlfriend.”

…

John vaguely remembered Katherine commenting on the name of the building where she lived in Harlem. She had tried to take him there the day they met, but he was a little more romantic than that. Besides, his interest in her had disappeared fifteen minutes after they talked in that park and decided to go out for coffee. The truth was, in fact, that beauty only held someone's attention for the first few minutes and that, afterwards, you needed something more consistent and relevant to offer.

Finding the building had been easier than he had anticipated, and with the help of the intercom, he found her apartment number without any problems. The name, Katherine Howard, had been written with a purple sharpie next to the number 24.

_ “Yes?” _ Her voice was almost unrecognizable because of the hiss and even more squeaky over the intercom.

“Katherine, it's me. Can I go up?”

_ “Roger? You’re back already? Come.” _

John stared at the intercom, confused, but before he could think to answer anything, he felt someone approach behind him and turned, frowning when he saw Roger Wakefield behind him.

“What the devil are you doing here?” Asked the big asshole, making a face when he realized who the person was in front of the intercom.

“It's a free country, you know? People have the right to come and go as they please,” replied John, before he could avoid it.

He saw Roger's expression change, as if a black cloud had just crossed the sky. His eyes scanned the tall, solid figure in front of him, recording the details as his mind worked to gather the facts. He wore a white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing the muscular and hairy forearms. His pants and shoes were the same as the night before, except for the dark brown suit. He was carrying a Levain Bakery bag and his posture looked extremely aggressive, slightly bent towards John.

"Listen, mate," Roger spat, sending droplets of saliva against his face. “I'll say it just once, okay? Stay away from her. Brianna is my girlfriend.”

"She is not your property," John growled grimly. He was quite tall and strong, but it was obvious that Roger had an almost strategic advantage, with his back to the open space while he was cornered against the intercom. Anyway, he didn't care. “Brianna deserves much better than you.”

Roger moved closer, inflating his chest as if he wanted to get bigger than it already was.

“What would be best for her?  _ You _ ?” He scorned, his Scottish accent getting so intense that John almost couldn't understand the words. “Let me tell you something about Brianna. She likes comfort. Once she adapts to something, it's almost impossible to get her to move. Stubborn as a mule, right?” God, how he wanted to punch that man. He clenched his fists at his sides and ground his teeth so hard that he was almost certain that he would break them if he continued doing that for too long. “I know she doesn't love me. I'm sure she never loved me, actually. Okay, I don't love her either. Doesn’t matter. It’s comfortable for her that we remain together. I have a steady job, her parents love me, the sex is great. Seems like she never gets tired of it. What do you have to offer, John? Are you going to take her to sell sketches on the subway station? She will find it eccentric for a while, but she will always end up going back to what makes her comfortable.”

He acted against all his instincts, but that was exactly what Roger expected of him. His fist advanced, with no specific target, and hit the air when Wakefield dodged, dropping the paper bag to use his hands to push him against the wall. John's shoulder hit the intercom and the explosion of pain blew all the air out of his lungs. His eyes tried to focus on Roger again, and when he finally did, he realized that the bastard was just inches from him.

“Wrong move, mate,” his voice seemed to vibrate with disdain, or maybe it was just John's skull reverberating with the impact. “Remember what I said, aye?” Roger gave John two quick and hot slaps on the cheek and walked away, bending down to pick up the bag from the bakery before entering the building.

John remained there, standing and humiliated, staring at the door with almost tangible fury. He didn't notice that his hands were shaking with rage until he tried to shove them in his pockets in search of the phone. Without him realizing what he was doing, he put the phone to his ear and waited until she answered.

“Hey...” she sounded apprehensive and he suppressed the urge to laugh. The last thing he wanted, at that moment, was to be cautious. “Is everything okay?”

"I was thinking of a way to say this without sounding like I'm a complete lunatic," he began, his own voice sounding alien to his own ears. “It's Roger. Katherine is sleeping with Roger.”

…

Brianna arrived there after almost an hour, bringing with her the girl he had met at the fair the night before. Her expression was impenetrable and he knew she was trying very hard to hide what she was feeling. He had regretted calling her almost instantly, but the shit had already hit the fan and spread in all directions. The other woman, Lizzie, didn't bother to hide how furious she was and it made him feel a little better. At least he wasn't the only one there wanting to go over Roger with a steamroller.

They found him on the corner, where he could watch who came in and who left the apartment and quickly hide in case Katherine or even the shitty cheater came his way. There had been no sign of life on either side, and he wondered if Wakefield was having his second meal that morning. The thought ignited his nerves.  _ How dare he do that to Brianna? _

“Where is he?” Asked Lizzie, looking around as if Roger could emerge from the manhole. “Are we going to catch him?”

John was about to nod when Brianna replied, calm as he had never seen her before.

"You’re not going anywhere," she said, looking from one to the other as if daring them to challenge her. “I’ll solve it my way and, if all goes well, as quiet and quickly as possible.”

“You can't...” John started to protest, receiving a look so intense that it made him give up his argument almost immediately.

“Oh, I can. And I will,” she assured him. “You two will be out here keeping company for each other and, when I get back, we will go out for ice cream.”

He and Lizzie watched, feeling extremely upset, as Brianna walked towards Katherine's building. They saw her look at the broken intercom for a few moments until she found the girl's apartment number and disappeared through the door.

“Who’s the girl?” Asked Lizzie, turning to face him as if he were the cheater. “Brianna was annoyingly quiet on the way here. She didn't tell me anything!”

John closed his eyes, feeling a twinge of headache lodge in the space between his eyes. He massaged it with his index finger, opening his eyes before answering.

"We were hanging out," he said, watching her look even more furious. “It was nothing serious, even though she seemed a little decompensated in the first weeks. I suspected she was screwing her professor, but never, not even in a million years, would I suspect it was  _ Roger _ .”

Lizzie made a disgusted noise in her throat and John smiled, immediately deciding that he liked her. Suddenly, she narrowed her eyes, taking on an accusation.

“What were you doing at her apartment?”

"I came to finish what we never started," John assured her. “I don't know if Brianna mentioned it, but she has me in the palm of her hand.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes.

“Some of us think it's the other way around, actually.”

He smiled, unable to help it.

“So she talks a lot about me, huh?”

Lizzie tilted her head to the side.

“You must be crazy if you think I would expose my best friend,” she put her hand on her chest, as if she was offended. “I would never tell you about the time she had an erotic dream about you and woke up wet, no way!”

John had the decency to blush violently and it made the young woman in front of him laugh out loud.

"I'm kidding, don't get a boner," she said, between her laughs. “Save it for tonight because, if you don't stop this will-they-won’t-they and have sex soon, I swear I will sue you both.”

"You are very direct, right?”

"You're English," she said, shrugging. “Thought you liked it.”

They waited for another five minutes, taking the time together to curse Roger for all the names they knew. John was surprised to discover how wide Lizzie's vocabulary for insults was and told her a little about the night before – leaving out the part about him telling Brianna about his illegal immigration –, apologizing for being rude when they met.

“You almost kissed her?” She asked, amazed.

"Yes," he admitted. “She said she wanted to, but we couldn't.”

"And look how the universe reciprocates her fidelity," she cursed, glaring at Katherine's building. “She's taking too long.”

"Are you suggesting disobeying a direct order from Brianna-I-know-what-I'm-doing-Fraser?"

"I knew you were a smart guy," she said, holding him by the arm as she pulled him in the same direction that her friend had disappeared. “I know it's completely inappropriate for the moment, but do you work out?” She asked, giving his biceps a squeeze.

Brianna went through the door as if she were about to kill someone. The calm she had previously exhibited was completely gone, and to be honest, John didn't blame her. Anyone who spent more than a few seconds in the presence of Roger Wakefield and didn’t get extremely irritated was, at the very least, unreliable.

“Brianna, wait, fuck!” Growled Roger, appearing behind her like an annoyed wall. He held her by the arm and John felt the blood bubbling in his ears.

“Take your hands off her, you piece of shit,” this time he didn't miss. It was like punching a wall. His fist hit Roger right in the eye and a sharp stab of pain went up on his arm to his shoulder, making his teeth tremble as he let out a grunt of pain. Had he broken his hand hitting that idiot? If so, at least it was for a good cause.

Roger staggered, releasing Brianna as he used one hand to support himself against the wall and the other to cover the bruise that was already beginning to appear where John's punch had hit him.

"You're going to regret this, mate," he spat, straightening up to launch himself at John. “I'll end you.”

Brianna moved between the two of them, moving with an agility and determination that surprised him. He, by his peripheral vision, realized that they had attracted an audience. Great, if he were deported, it would be for pulling out that smug smile off that asshole's face.

"If your brain was as big as your ego, you might be able to understand the concept of 'it's over'," growled Brianna, and even with her back to him, John knew that the sight of her furious should be terrifying. “In any case, I repeat. I don't care who you're fucking. I don't care if you were cheating on me with all of New York. I never liked you, I don't even know how I  _ tolerated _ your existence all this time without throwing myself on the subway tracks.” She raised a finger, pointing menacingly at him. “If you approach me again, or John, or anyone who is minimally related to me, I swear to God I will finish you. Imagine how  _ scandalous _ it would be that the newly admitted professor at NYU had sex with the first student who came into his office after class.”

"You wouldn't do that," he dismissed, not seeming so sure.

"No," Lizzie agreed, making everyone turn to her. In fact, a small crowd was beginning to form there. “But you know  _ I _ would do much worse. Maybe we should start with these people here?” She raised her arms, spinning as if she was on a stage. “Brianna was very clear, but I will summarize it so that even you two underdeveloped brain cells can understand, okay? Fuck you, asshole.”

And with that cue, Brianna spun on her heels, took John's arm, and the three of them walked in furious silence with no specific direction for a while. Lizzie, who had commented that she had no vocation for being a third wheel, decided to stop for something to eat and forbade them to stay in the same restaurant as her.

John and Brianna had lunch together, slightly tense because of all the confusion and the big ass elephant in the room. He knew that part of her was disappointed in him and that she found him irresponsible, in addition to all the turmoil of emotions she was probably feeling when she thought of the cheating. Did she blame him for telling her so abruptly? When they finished, she ordered a taxi and nodded at the vehicle, saying she wanted him to get in too.

“Bree...” he started several minutes later, at the same time she whispered his name.

“John…”

Both stared at each other for a millisecond before laughing. The mood around them seemed to subside gently.

"You can go first," he said, smiling.

"No, you started first," she replied, waving her hand peacefully.

"I just wanted to apologize," he murmured, trying to read her expression. “I think I should have been more delicate. I was very insensitive to just throw that information on you. I’m sorry.”

She stared at him for a few seconds, looking incredulous.

" _ I _ wanted to apologize," she announced. “I knew Roger was cheating on me. He sent me a bizarre and disgusting text that he probably meant to send to Katherine. Marsali… she managed to access his iCloud and discovered a lot of nudes and disgusting messages between them. Her contact was saved with a cat emoji and I should have connected the dots, especially after you told me that she was studying History at NYU and that you suspected she was screwing her professor.”

John heard the taxi driver snort, but ignored it.

“So I think we were both made fools.”

“Some bad things happen for the greater good.”

The taxi parked in front of her building and they both got out after paying for the ride.

“You just finished your relationship and already brought me home?” Asked John, nudging her lightly in the waist. “Bold of you, Fraser.”

Brianna rolled her eyes, but she blushed anyway.

“I brought you here for us to think of a solution to your problem, you perv.”

“How boring, I think I prefer my idea.”

“We know very well that you have a bad habit of prioritizing the wrong thing.”

“Ouch, that hurt.”

“ _ Ma chérie?” _ a strangely familiar voice called.

John and Brianna turned and found a tall, slender figure standing beside some suitcases and a guitar inside a box full of inappropriate stickers. The dude was ridiculously handsome. His eyes were light blue and his long lashes seemed to bring out the color in them. His hair was long and curly, reaching up to his chin. His jaw appeared to have been sculpted, covered with a thin beard from someone who had spent a long time away from a shaver and was exhausted. John's heart jumped and he suppressed an unflattering cry.  _ Holy fuck! _

“Fergus!” he and Brianna said in unison, making them both look at each other, confused.

“Do you know my brother?” Brianna asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Fergus Fraser is your brother?” Asked John, feeling his heart do three pirouettes inside his chest.

“Who the hell is this guy?” Fergus frowned.

“Oh, sorry,” John straightened up, extending his hand to the dude, immediately regretting it. His hand wasn't broken, but it hurt like hell. “John Grey, I'm a huge fan of your work. Your last album is one of the best works of art ever made.”

"Oh, no," groaned Brianna, rolling her eyes. “I can't believe you're in love with my brother.”

“I didn't know he was your brother!”

"For God's sake, Grey," she laughed. “Is there a Fraser that you don't want to kiss? You really are Frasersexual!”

“Can someone explain to me what the hell is going on here?” Fergus Fraser crossed his arms, looking angry. John recognized that expression, and even though he was nothing like Brianna, there was no doubt that they were raised by the same people.

“Oh, Fergus. I missed you so much,” Brianna threw herself into his arms and he hugged her, murmuring something in French. “Come. Let’s go inside. I need to update you on so many things...”


	12. 11. THIS IS NOT A DATE

**BRIANNA**

Bree was happy. Of course she was. Breaking up with Roger and seeing her brother on the same day? Seemed like the universe was finally rewarding all her suffering with an entire day of glory!

She was so happy to see Fergus that the memory of what had happened earlier in the day faded almost completely. It wasn't like Brianna needed time to "get over" her breakup with Roger – hell, as far as she was concerned, she might as well dance on the streets to the sound of ABBA as if she were in one of those Mamma Mia movies. Although, she thought getting rid of him would be easier than it actually was, or that Roger would at least have the decency to look ashamed for being a cheating son of a bitch. Of course, he had to make everything more dramatic than it really was, but now she was just happy because she would never have to see him again. Besides, Fergus was there.

However, she had forgotten how inconvenient her brother could be when he wanted to.

“So, what were you doing together?”, Fergus asked, unpretentiously, after leaving his bags and his guitar case in the corner of the living room to open the fridge. Good thing he was making himself comfortable, Brianna thought.

“I broke up with Roger,” she replied, from the couch, where she was sitting next to John. Fergus turned to her, eyes wide and a big smile on his face. “He was cheating on me. With the girl John was with, actually.”

Fergus's smile disappeared.

"I wasn't  _ with _ her," John murmured.

“He was  _ cheating _ on you?,” Fergus growled. “ _ Quel salaud! Imbécile fils de pute… _ ”

Brianna controlled herself not to laugh. That was pretty much everything she knew of French: basic greetings and swear words. Somehow, cursing in another language did not evoke the image of the furious nuns of her school in her mind, and Fergus was a great teacher, by the way.

"It's okay, Fergus," she sighed. "I mean, some bad things happen for the greater good," she repeated the same thing she had said to John earlier and smiled. Heavens, no one had ever been more ridiculously happy for a break up than she was.

“Can I ask you something?”, it was John's turn to speak. Bree turned to him, frowning. John was not the type to ask ‘if he could ask’ anything. He simply said what he wanted, period. “Why did you put up with him for so long?”

Bree had to contain the urge to answer that question with _ why didn’t you ask that before? _ , because surely John already knew that she didn't love Roger – in fact, that she didn't even like him – since the day she had admitted that aloud when he was reading her list. Fergus opened his mouth before she had a chance:

“Because of our mother,” he replied, making a sandwich with the ingredients he had found in the fridge. “Bree always felt pressured to have a perfect relationship because of our parents. You probably won't understand this one hundred percent, but if you knew them, you would know what I mean.”

"John thinks Da and Mama are very attractive," Brianna said.

“Oh, my God, will you ever forget that?” John asked grimly, furiously blushing.

"Probably not," she replied, patting him friendly in the arm.

“Wait, there’s something I don’t understand,” John said with a thoughtful expression. “You should already know that what you and Wakefield had was nothing like what your parents have... well, I'll believe what you say, since I never met them. So, what does your mother have to do with it?”

Fergus interrupted her again:

“ _ Maman _ liked Roger when she met him. Da, not so much,” he held the sandwich. “Our mother is very clever, but she is not always the best judge of people's character. And she had never approved of any of Bree's boyfriends before, so… you got it,” he finished off, taking a bite of the sandwich.

Brianna rolled her eyes.

“Wow, thank you very much, Fergus. Any other personal details of my life that you would like to share?”

Fergus laughed, sitting on the stool by the counter.

“So... John, right?,” he asked, just pretending not to know. Bree saw John get as tense as she would if she were facing Robert Pattinson. She still couldn't believe he was going to have a fangirl attack for her brother, for God's sake! “Where did you guys meet?”

Bree and John looked at each other for a brief second before turning their attention to Fergus. Of course, she couldn't tell the full story, no matter how much she trusted her brother. It wasn’t her secret to share. However, they still needed to come up with an excuse for him to be there that was not ‘a solution to his problem’.

“John is an artist,” Bree replied. “In fact, he already did a job for Auntie Jo. Do you remember the exhibition about the women in our family?”

“Ah!” Fergus nodded. “So you work for Auntie Jo, huh? What did she do? Did she threaten to kill your family and expose your worst secrets in the New York Times?”

“Fergus!” Brianna scolded him, dumbfounded.

Her brother laughed, taking the glass of water from the counter.

“What? I love Auntie Jo, but we can't pretend she's totally trustworthy,” he shrugged, taking a sip of water while Bree felt her face heat up, even though she didn't doubt that John had already figured out on his own how cunning her great-aunt was. Fergus's cell phone started to ring, and he left the unfinished glass of water and half of his sandwich on the counter, gesturing as if to say ‘I'll be right back’ before disappearing down the hall to answer the call.

Brianna turned to John again and something new caught her eye.

“Shit!,” she said, noticing that his knuckles were red, almost purple, and hurriedly got up to get an ice bag from the freezer. “I always thought Roger's head should be as hard as a stone, but I didn't think it  _ literally _ was.”

“You don't need…”

“Shh,” Bree interrupted, gently pressing the cold bag against his injured hand, concentrating on it so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “I don't... I didn't really thank you for doing this. For me. I mean, you're either completely crazy to risk getting involved in a fight if the police showed up or... or you care. So, thank you.”

John didn't say anything for a few seconds, but she could feel his gaze, so she looked up. He had raised eyebrows and that half-crooked smile of someone who was having way more fun than he should with the situation.

“Thanking me, huh?,” he asked. “I thought you would scold me and say that we are in the 21st century and that you can defend yourself alone very well, thank you very much.”

She chuckled, feeling nervous.

“I’m trying  _ really _ hard to be nice to you, but it seems that you’re not enjoying this as much as you should.”

It was John's turn to laugh.

“Ah, on the contrary. I'm enjoying every second.”

He put his other hand over hers. Brianna felt a chill in her stomach when they stared at each other and she could almost see John's desire explicit in his blue eyes. He leaned slightly towards her, and Bree didn't move away. Their foreheads touched.

Brianna didn't know which part of John was her favorite – she loved his eyes, but she also loved his hair. She was almost obsessed with his nose, mouth, jaw and hands – honestly, he looked like he had been completely sculpted. In addition to those arms, of course, that she liked to watch when she was sure he wasn't looking. She slid her nose through his, realizing that, like herself, he was also holding his breath. Her free hand went to his lips, outlining them with the tip of her index finger. He was so beautiful it was absurd, and the only thing she could hear was the sound of her heart beating so loudly in her chest that she couldn't tell if it was really happening, that they – finally! – would kiss and...

"So," Fergus announced from the hall, returning to the living room. Brianna startled and almost fell off the couch. “Sorry about that, it was from the record company. We have barely finished the new album and they already want to set the start of production for the tour and the next single. What am I, a  _ putain  _ slave?”

"Well, you have a contract," Brianna growled. At that time, specifically, she was not her brother's and his perfect timing’s biggest fan.

“I won't think about it now. I’m in my sabbatical months, I told them,” Fergus murmured, grumpy. “Even though they’ll probably just leave me alone for a few days. Where were we? Oh yes, John working for Auntie Jo, right?”

The conversation went on for some time, but John, in addition to still being clearly nervous about Fergus' presence, also seemed to be no longer in the mood to talk after he and Brianna were brutally interrupted. She wanted to sink on the couch – why couldn't she have had another victory that day, to top it off? Just  _ one _ more, universe!

Fergus announced that he would rest for a while and Brianna realized that the rest of the day in bed with face masks would also suit her, that Sunday had been a roller coaster of emotions. John awkwardly said goodbye to them. She said she would call him later, which made her feel slightly pathetic.

Wow. Bree had probably sounded like a teenager in love. She would call him to talk about the  _ problem _ – just matters related to illegal immigration and nothing to do with their friendship with not-so-much benefits. A few minutes after John left, Bree was in the kitchen when Fergus returned.

“Admit it,” he said. “If I hadn't shown up, were you guys going to bang?”

She looked at him, horrified.

"Excuse me, my sex life is none of your business," she said. ‘Because I don't have one,’ she thought, and she would almost have laughed if it didn’t completely ruin her angry face at that moment.

_ But would they? _ She didn't know how to answer, not even for herself. It was ridiculous, obviously. They hadn't even kissed yet, but  _ what if Fergus hadn't shown up? _ Of course, Brianna disguised it well when John joked about it before Fergus arrived – if he was joking at all. Because, well, of course she wanted it. Even though she didn't admit it to anyone – not even to Lizzie and Marsali – she paid attention to a certain part of her body during her showers and before going to sleep, thinking about John.

“ _ Pour Dieu _ , you are red as a tomato, I’ll consider that it is a yes,” Fergus laughed.

She hid her face with her hands, feeling very much like dying in that moment.

“Fergus!”

“I'm not judging, okay? He seems cool, and I don't care that you broke up with Roger today. It's important to move on,” he said, and Brianna didn't know how that conversation could get any more uncomfortable. “I just wanted to say that I'm probably going to look for a place to rent while I'm here, because I'm going to be traumatized for the rest of my life if I accidentally get here and catch my little sister doing obscenities on the couch.”

“Oh, my God, can you shut up?,” she begged. “Don't be ridiculous, you don't need to spend money on rent if you can stay here for free. Actually, how long are you going to stay?”

“I didn't buy a return ticket,” Fergus shrugged. “I thought it would be good to try new things, even if it is the polluted air of New York. But you were right when you said that I have a contract, I’ll probably have to write new songs soon, and I don't want to disturb you while I’m at it.”

Well, he had a point. Bree remembered when teenage Fergus took music lessons at school and she wanted to hit her head on the wall when he started playing Careless Whisper for the tenth consecutive time on the saxophone.

“And besides, the part I said about not catching you…”

“Stop, okay?,” Brianna asked, crossing her arms. Fergus seemed to be enjoying himself a lot. “Look... he's important to me, so be nice, alright?,” then she had another thought and made a face. “But don't be  _ too _ charming, because he is already your fan and I want him to like  _ me _ .”

Fergus laughed and approached her, holding Brianna's face in his hands to kiss her on the forehead.

“Don't worry, chére little sister. I won’t steal your man.”

…

Brianna was especially depressed when she needed to have lunch alone. She was used to spending most of her free time – which was not much, just meal breaks – with Marsali, but her friend had her own work to do, and Bree thought the Cooper & Clarkson interns suffered way more than they should. All by herself, she decided to have lunch at an Italian restaurant on the same block as the company building, and she knew how to feel less lonely.

“You don't work tonight, right?,” she asked, holding the phone to her ear with one hand while the other used her fork to pierce the lettuce leaves of her caesar salad. She remembered John having mentioned that he only worked three times a week at the karaoke bar, so she asked, "Are you free?"

“Why? Are you finally going to ask me out on a date?,” he asked sarcastically.

"It's not a date," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Lizzie and I are going to take Fergus out. He came here because of me, but he doesn't know anyone in the city. Yesterday he came to work with me to keep me company, or for me to keep him company, but he is definitely not the type of person who was born to stay in an office room.”

"I completely understand," John snorted.

“Then, we'll take him out. He said he thought you were cool... calm down, don't have a fangirl attack.”

“Funny,” he sneered at the other end of the line.

"Anyway," Bree continued, "I called my other friend, Marsali. You know, the blonde who followed you on Instagram. Anyway, if you want to go... you can take a friend too.”

She heard John laugh through the call.

“Let me know the time and place, I'll be there.”

Brianna decided to take a leap of faith by letting Lizzie choose where they would go – she knew that that considerably increased the chances that they would end up doing something illegal, in a strip club or in a casino, but she also knew that Lizzie was much more sociable than she was and that the girl knew New York like the back of her hand. One of her talents, Lizzie would say, was finding good places in the city where you didn't have to spend a minimum wage just to sit at the table – which was rare, when it came to Manhattan.

Lizzie chose the meeting point for the non-date: a 50s-themed retro diner. At first Brianna had her doubts about the place, but she trusted her friend, since she had never been there. When they arrived, she was super excited about the neon signs, the waitresses on roller skates and the giant milkshakes on the tables. It even had a jukebox!

"I told you so," Lizzie said happily, with one arm entwined with Bree's, that was between her and Fergus. “Look, John is over there. Who is  _ that _ ?,” she added, using the tone of voice she reserved for when she was interested in someone.

Brianna looked in the direction Lizzie had pointed and mentally guessed that the guy next to John was Denny, the friend he shared the apartment with. She didn't know much about him, just what John had told her.

“Hi!, “Brianna greeted them, before Lizzie could arrive already sitting on Denny's lap. He was really handsome.

She was right – and Denzell Hunter, as he introduced himself, looked at her as if she were Captain Marvel or a ghost. Bree was already used to that people's reaction, so she didn’t mind.

"John talked about you." She smiled, shaking his hand.

“Only good things, I hope.”

“I wouldn't trust him. He's a snake,” she said.

“Hey!,” John protested, placing his hand on his chest, dramatically pretending to be offended.

"You know I'm just kidding." she winked at him before looking back at Denny, who was still looking at her seeming slightly impressed. What the hell did John tell him about her? “John, you already know my brother and Lizzie. Denzell, these are Fergus Fraser and Lizzie Wemyss,” she introduced them as they sat at the table on the booth's upholstered benches, Fergus in the empty space next to Denny and the two on the bench in front of them. “Marsali will probably arrive in a little while and…”

Brianna stopped talking when she noticed that the three men were wide-eyed looking at something behind her. Without understanding, she looked over her shoulder and her jaw dropped.

Marsali did not dress to impress – she dressed to depress: she looked so gorgeous that it made everyone around her feel bad because they wanted to be her or because they wanted  _ her _ . Bree blinked, still impressed with the fact that Marsali could have come out of a Vogue magazine when Lizzie exclaimed what everyone there (especially the men) was thinking:

“Damn, Marsali, you look so hot!”

She really did. Wearing a cropped top and a tight high-waisted skirt that left only a few inches of her belly exposed, with a leather jacket and high heels, Marsali looked like a badass model or rock star. She introduced herself, sympathetically, to John and Denny, and then gave Fergus a longer stare before extending her hand.

“So you're Bree's brother.”

“Are you surprised?”, he asked, raising his eyebrows and using the voice Brianna knew he reserved for flirting.  _ Oh no. _

"A little." Marsali shrugged, as if she didn't care, and sat down next to Lizzie.

Brianna didn't understand. Marsali knew who Fergus was! She had already seen pictures of Bree with him and knew about the band, but she had never mentioned that she was attracted to him.

She looked up at John in front of her, who seemed to be asking,  _ What the hell is going on? _

Her expression replied:  _ I have no idea. _

"I hope it's in a good way," Fergus commented, his accent heavy and full of charm. Brianna wanted to slowly strangle him.

“Woah, I'm starving, what about you guys?”, Lizzie exclaimed, unnaturally, opening one of the menus and throwing another in the direction of Fergus that frowned after being awake, from the Marsali-hypnosis.

Bree had never been more grateful to have Elizabeth Wemyss in her life than she was that night – she couldn't stop thinking that, despite Lizzie telling some embarrassing stories about her sometimes, it would be  _ much _ more embarrassing if only she, John, Fergus and Marsali were around that table. She just felt a little sorry for Denzell – Lizzie had made it  _ very _ clear that she was interested in him and he was looking at her like he was terrified.

While everyone seemed to be really having fun and talking, the star of the table was Lizzie. Fergus was the closest to a celebrity there, but Bree knew he hated that label and anything connected with fame, so he let Lizzie get comfortable and tell all of her stories about her unsuccessful attempts to become a famous actress. “I was among the paparazzi on the Met Gala and they mistook me for Emma Stone ...”, “… did I ever tell you guys that I auditioned for Lady Bird? I'm sure I would have been a lot better than Saoirse Ronan, but God forbid me to have a sex scene with Chalamet... ”,“once I found Jake Gyllenhaal drunk in a bar in Chinatown and he hit on me, it was the best day of my life...”, among others, were some of the treasures with which she graced everyone's night.

Bree ate some French fries while Lizzie chattered and looked at John. He was already looking at her, and smiled. She felt her face heat up.

Maybe she was thinking about their almost kiss on her couch more than she should for her own good.

"Excuse me, I'm going to the restroom," Brianna said, getting up.

“Me too! Wait for me,” Lizzie replied almost immediately. Bree didn't think it was weird, maybe she really needed to use the restroom too, but she knew it wasn't like that when Lizzie grabbed her arm when she was about to open the door “Why didn't you tell me that it was a freaking triple date triple?”

Brianna frowned.

“This isn’t a date!”

“Oh, of course not. Only if I were blind to not notice that you and John are practically eye fucking,” Lizzie whispered. “Seriously, only Fergus and Marsali can be more obvious than you two! But I'm sure they have more attitude than you and they’ll end up having sex in the restroom right here,” she said, flicking Brianna's forehead next.

“Ouch, Lizzie!,” Bree growled, rubbing the bruised spot.

“Not that I'm complaining about Denzell, honestly, I would do it until he passed out from tiredness,” she said, which didn't surprise Bree. “But he’s looking at me like I'm going to bite him! Well, I would only bite him if he let me,” Lizzie shrugged.

“Look,” Brianna grabbed her by the shoulders. “You don't need to feel left out, okay? We’re all here as friends.”

“Friends that hook up?”

_ I wish _ , Bree thought, rolling her eyes.

"Why don't you go back to the table," Brianna asked, "and keep on entertaining everyone until I'm back?"

Lizzie laughed wryly.

“Not that I need to take your place, right? The only person you're entertaining is John and his dirty thoughts.”

“Hurry up, Lizzie!”

She returned to the table a few minutes later, finding everyone looking very interested in something that Fergus was telling. Everyone was laughing – which made Brianna freeze with worry. He wasn't talking about  _ her _ , was he? If he were, he was a dead man.

“May I know what's going on?,” she asked casually as she resumed her place at the table.

“Oh, you know,” Fergus said, laughing. “Just telling them how Dr. Claire Fraser didn’t made our social life easier at school by giving that sex education lecture.”

Bree was about to chuckle – well, it was an embarrassing story, but years later it had become funnier – when she noticed Denzell's eyes going wide.

“Doctor Claire Fraser?,” he repeated. “My God,  _ Claire Fraser _ is your mother?”

Confused, she didn't know exactly how to answer.  _ Duh _ , it was obvious, but how did he know her mother? Most importantly, why did he look so impressed?

“Oh, no,” John said, as if he was amazed. “Don't tell me that...”

“Claire Fraser?,” Denny asked again, and Fergus looked as bewildered as Bree. Denny let out a nervous laugh that came out too high-pitched and put his hand on his chest. “My God, I have all her books! “The Anatomy of the Corpus Delicti” is simply the greatest medical masterpiece of our generation!”

Brianna vaguely remembered when John told her that Denzell was a medical student. She knew that her mother was a prestigious doctor – in addition to having published some books in the past ten years, she had also been offered the job of chief director at one of Boston's largest hospitals. However, Bree wouldn't imagine, not in a million years, that she would find a fan of her mother out there.

John had his hand over his mouth and his eyes closed, seeming to be using all his strength not to burst out laughing.

“She’s a genius, perhaps one of the most brilliant doctors out there nowadays,” Denny continued, seeming to be hyperventilating. “Can you tell her that I really appreciate her work? Some books have already become mandatory reading at some state colleges,” he said, and Bree was sincerely impressed. She had no idea that her mother was so important, which made her proud. “And she is so beautiful... I mean  _ brilliant _ !”

This time, John couldn't help but laugh, and Bree followed, feeling a little guilty when she saw Denzell's expression, who seemed to want a hole to open up and swallow him. John laughed so hard he burst into tears, and Bree bit her lip to control herself.

"Look," Fergus said, showing Denny his cell phone. He had opened a selfie of him with Mama that seemed to make Denny even more nervous.

“Sorry about that, you must think I'm an idiot,” he said, running his hands through his hair, clearly embarrassed.

"Not at all," Bree assured him. "It was really cute, actually. I'm going to ask Mama to send you a signed book, I'm sure she'll be very happy to do that.”

Denzell did not answer, but he looked at her as if she had just offered him a million dollars.

"Well, I think now it's my turn to go to the restroom," Marsali announced. Just three seconds later, Fergus stood up.

“I think I'm going too.”

“No!”, Brianna shouted, making everyone at the table (and in the diner) look at her. She cleared her throat and tried to keep her voice controlled. “Fergus, come with me.”

“Where?”

“Let's choose a song to play on the jukebox.”

“Why?”

_ Because I said so, bitch, _ she wanted to answer, but instead she just grabbed her brother by the hand and dragged him to the farthest corner of the diner, next to the jukebox and far enough away from all the tables.

"You can't have sex with Marsali," she whispered, crossing her arms. Fergus's eyes widened.

“Why not?,” he asked, as if he were a spoiled child.

“Because,” Bree sighed, “Marsali has a tendency to hate all the men she sleeps with. And if she hates you, she will hate  _ me _ . This can’t happen, because in addition to being my best friend at work, she is my  _ only _ friend there. Are you understanding me?”

Fergus imitated her and also crossed his arms, annoyed.

“I'm not like the other guys.”

Brianna rolled her eyes and looked like she was going to be sick.

"Says you and every other man in the world, right, darling?", she scorned. Fergus snorted, annoyed. “I'm serious. You can fuck anyone you want, but Marsali is out of the question. Got it?”

"Okay," he growled, without looking at her.

“Fergus,” she took the brother's face in her hands, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “Promise me.”

“I won't promise anything!,” he replied, and Brianna gave him a look that said  _ careful with what you say, otherwise I will murder you while you sleep _ . “Fine. I promise I’ll try.”

She let him go. It wasn't the answer she wanted, but it would have to be enough. Before going back to the table, she put Hey Jude to play on the jukebox.

It was the middle of the week, which meant that everyone there (except Fergus) would have to get up early the next day to work. They decided that they would call it a night and that they would go out again at the weekend. Brianna was truly happy – not just because Fergus had made new friends (although she knew she would need to control him so he wouldn't be  _ too _ friendly with Marsali), but also because she really had fun with everyone there. From Lizzie's crazy stories to Denny's fan attack, she really enjoyed the night.

Which, of course, got better when John said he would accompany her home.

“You know you don't have to do that, don't you? I can take care of her,” Fergus said. Brianna stepped discreetly on his foot next. “Ouch!”

"It won't be a problem for me," John smiled politely. “In fact, I would love to take a walk before I go home.”

“A walk completely out of your way, isn't it?,” Denny raised his eyebrows.

John turned to him with a smile that could also be translated as  _ I'm going to kill you right here. _

“Denzell,” he said. “Why don't you accompany the girls?”

"We live in the West Village," Lizzie said. "Marsali’s building is only a few blocks away from mine.”

“Perfect! Be a gentleman and follow them.  _ Now _ .” John said, through his teeth, patting his friend on the back.

Bree smiled and blushed slightly at his effort to spend more time with her, at the same time that she wanted to laugh at Fergus because he had just missed the opportunity to do the same with Marsali.

They didn't say much during the subway ride – she was used to the comfortable silence between them, but now it was different.  _ Everything _ was different, because now she was single and had already admitted out loud that she wanted him. As much as she tried to disguise it, what was the point? The two of them knew what they felt, and luckily it was mutual. If Fergus hadn't been there, she probably would have put her head on his shoulder while they were sitting in the subway. The thought made her feel the damn butterflies in her stomach again.

Brianna thought John was going to say goodbye at her station to change trains and go home, so she was surprised when he patiently walked with her and Fergus to the building where she lived. Fergus had the decency – after rolling his eyes, clearly annoyed – to ask for the key and speed up his pace to stand a few feet ahead of them. They purposely took longer than necessary, making small talk on the way to her house. However, Bree knew very well that John had not been there for that. Why was he there, then?

She took a deep breath in the corridor of her apartment, realizing that Fergus was already inside. Brianna crossed her arms, turning to John, who had his hands in his pockets and, unlike her, looked completely calm and carefree. She wanted to punch him for it.

“So?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you come here?,” she finally asked.

“Ah,” he smiled. “I was wondering if I can kiss you now.”

Brianna laughed nervously, but she wasn't surprised. That was  _ so  _ like him.

“Seriously? If you bothered to come here to ask that, it would be very mean of me to say no,” she said, taking a step towards him.

“What else could I do, ask you in front of everyone? I have principles, Fraser,” John replied, as she put her hands on his shoulders and, at the same time, his hands ended up on her waist. His touch there just felt... right. “And I couldn't call you to the diner’s loo to do that, it wouldn't be romantic at all.”

"Right," she confirmed, now with her arms around his neck. They were so close that every part of her body was very aware of his body pressed to hers. “Because there is nothing more romantic than an old building’s hall. Yes, Grey, you can kiss me now.”

She kept her eyes open as long as she could, but when his lips brushed hers, her eyelids gave out.

Brianna had fantasized more times than she wanted to admit about kissing John, but the real experience was far better than anything she could imagine. His lips were as soft as she thought they would be, but the gentleness of the kiss faded when his tongue invaded her mouth as if he were slowly savoring her. Brianna felt her legs tremble, but he held her tight – John's hands slid down her curves until they grabbed her ass, and she gasped softly, entwining her fingers in his hair and pulling it lightly. She felt him smile against her mouth.

So it was like this – she thought, even though at that moment the last thing she could do was think rationally, the feeling of kissing someone you wanted as much as you needed to breathe. And that was exactly how she felt, determined that she didn't need air while John Grey was kissing her. Maybe it was because she had never waited so long to kiss someone she was attracted to, or maybe he just was a really good kisser, but she had no doubt that  _ that  _ was the best kiss of her life.

Their mouths parted slightly, just for a moment, while the two of them gasped, but Brianna didn't want to leave – John, apparently, neither. He bit her bottom lip slightly and it took all her strength not to let out a moan. What the hell was that between them – and why was it so good? Why did he have to have that effect on her?

“How... how long...” she asked, whispering, feeling his lips trace a path through her jaw. “How long have you wanted to do this?”

"From the first day I saw you," he answered in her ear, and Bree arched her back slightly. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

It was her turn, after gathering all of her remaining strength, to push him against the door of her apartment almost abruptly – and the slow kiss that John had started turned into a voracious, almost desperate one. She held his face in her hands and pressed her hips against his. John groaned, and she felt strangely powerful, in control. Whatever he did to her was a two-way street – and the side effect was apparently an urge to take his clothes off. Bree's hands came down to the hem of John's shirt, exploring his abdomen to confirm that it was as firm as she had fantasized.

Ugh. It was. She slid her nails over his skin there. Brianna wanted to lick it.

John apparently liked to stay in control, which just turned her on even more. He grabbed Brianna's face and bit her lip again, teasing her. She almost cried to beg for more, so that he wouldn't stop kissing her, so that he wouldn't leave.

Then the two heard a loud clearing of the throat coming from inside, causing them to laugh softly against each other's lips.

"I think that means you're not going to ask me in," John whispered, his voice hoarser than usual. Brianna licked her lips, still holding him tightly by the shirt, not daring to let him go. His pupils were dilated, his eyes dark with desire.

“That would be a great way to destroy a friendship.”

“What, you don't kiss your friends?” He asked, frowning, in a way that made her laugh and wonder if he was really being sarcastic. “Perhaps our friendship was doomed to fail.”

"Shut up," she said, pulling him for another kiss. Just one more.

At least, that's what she thought.

That was the most difficult one to stop. It felt like something in her body had awakened by John's touch and kiss.

“You should go,” she said, even if it was the last thing she wanted to say. “It's late.”

“I know.”

"I don't want you to go," she admitted, closing her eyes again, feeling his breath on her face.

“I know,” John repeated. He held Bree's chin and kissed her cheek for a long time. It seemed like a delicious torture.

Brianna realized that prolonging it would only make the farewell more difficult. She didn't know when they would see each other again and didn't want to ask – even if the answer was only hours later, she would miss him terribly.

“Good night, Bree,” he said, still with his forehead pressed against hers.

“Good night, John,” she answered. He was the first to let go, and she didn't look back to see him leave, because somehow she thought it would make it worse.

When Brianna entered the apartment, she was leaning against the door for a few minutes, bewildered. She brought her fingertips to her swollen lips, closed her eyes, imagining him. She felt like her whole body was on fire.

“So it's like that?” Fergus asked, suddenly waking her from her reverie. “I can't make out with whoever I want to, but you can? That is  _ so _ unfair.”


	13. 12. INDECENT PROPOSITIONS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you all are enjoying the story so far and here’s a brand new chapter where things start to get steamy... i mean, interesting 👀 we wanted to thank you again for all the support, comments, kudos and feedback! Please keep them coming! The best part of sharing this with you all is knowing what you think so don’t forget to let us know what you think 💓

**JOHN**

John wasn’t in love with Fergus Fraser.

He was sure there was a logical explanation for the way his heart almost went up to his throat when he saw the notifications on his phone screen and read the message that Brianna's brother had sent him.

**Salut, John! Fergus here. Bree gave me your number, I hope you don't mind. Can we meet for lunch today?**

There was a part of his brain – a conspiratorial and very creative part – that smelled a trap. Fergus Fraser could be planning to kidnap him to do the interrogation that would start with "What are your intentions with my sister?" and would continue going downhill. There was also the rational and intelligent part that believed that he just wanted to get to know him better and learn about what was going on between John and Brianna.

_ What the hell is going on between you and Brianna? _ He wondered, unable to get even close to a concrete answer.

They had kissed. Period. After so long wanting to do that, John feared that, if that day really came, the anticipation and his expectations would ruin the moment. He remembered the TV show of lawyers he watched with Denny when they both had free time. The handsome lawyer had excellent chemistry with his secretary for the first few seasons, but the writers ended up messing around during the development of their relationship that, when they finally got together, John didn't feel his expectations had been met. He was happy for the couple, obviously, but he expected  _ more _ .

With Brianna, it had been just the opposite. He expected many things, but not even his fertile imagination prepared him for the overwhelming sensation that spread through his veins like an adrenaline and sexual tension rush. The way each part of their body seemed to fit together, against each other, as if they had been made to be placed as close as they had been. They said a lot to each other without saying a lot to each other. No language conveys a message as clearly as body language and, as he had realized during that kiss, their bodies had a lot to say to one another. But with or without that conversation, John had no idea what was there between them.

**I’ll be free at noon. Tell me when and where :)**

…

He met Fergus in front of the Parker New York Hotel at the agreed time. The day was cloudy and relatively cold, announcing the arrival of the last months of the year. He had tried not to dress up too much – although his dark denim jacket, turtleneck sweater and new boots were a clear demonstration of how he had failed miserably at that task – but there was no denying that the whole situation made him very uncomfortable and, in a way, anxious. It had been a few years since he had discovered Fergus' band among the playlists recommended by Spotify. It was love at first hearing. John was simply not used to meeting – and talking – with artists he admired, even here in New York. It was almost as if those people he admired were too good to live in the same dimension as him, a mere mortal. What had Brianna said?  _ Fangirl _ ? Yes, if someone looked for the definition of that word in the Urban Dictionary, they would probably find a picture of him there. God, John didn't even want to imagine what would happen to him if he ever met Taylor Swift. What are the chances of someone spontaneously combusting?

"Thanks for thinking about my wallet," he commented, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose before looking at the building. “I'm sure I can buy a glass of water here after I become a prostitute.”

Fergus laughed, leaning forward as he did so.

"You have a great sense of humor, Grey," he said, nodding toward the hotel.

Brianna's brother really looked like an indie singer. His hair was tied up in a hasty bun and he wore a rather overblown black overcoat, making him look eccentric even by New York standards. John remembered what Rachel had told him about artists not enjoying "mixing" and wondered if Fergus was doing it consciously.

The interior of the hotel was ridiculously luxurious, the kind that charged an exorbitant fee just so that you would have the pleasure of inhaling the fresh air that smelled of eucalyptus that seemed to involve the environment. John felt a twinge of panic in the pit of his stomach, but he did his best to contain the urge to run. Maybe he really had to sell his own body to pay for that lunch. Thank goodness he was handsome.

“Fergus...”, he started, wanting to dig a hole and hide. “I don't think I can afford to have lunch here.”

Fergus smiled.

" _ Ne t'inquiète pas, mon ami," _ he said, as if John wasn’t already terribly concerned. “Jocasta is very generous with her favorite nephews and nieces, but I’m not included in that list.”

“Oh, yeah? And who is?”

“Brianna," he replied, shrugging and opening a door that gave access to the hotel's basement. So John would  _ really _ be kidnapped and interrogated. “The others have to figure out how to get by. I’m included in this second list, in case you are wondering.”

"I thought your Aunt Jocasta was generous by nature," John muttered, not bothering to hide the harshness in his voice.

“She can make your life a lot easier," Fergus agreed, holding the door open. “I know she loves all her nephews and nieces, but don't expect an expensive gift if it's not your birthday. Unless, of course, you're Bree.”

John followed Fergus downstairs and realized that the basement was actually a very busy hamburger restaurant. The walls had been covered with graffiti, drawings, messages and posters from old films and bands. The lighting was very cozy – yellowish and warm – making him feel like he needed to take off his jacket. The smell of the hamburgers was delicious and his stomach roared with joy. There were several booths spread throughout the space, many of them already occupied by couples, groups of friends and even families.

"Welcome to Burger Joint,  _ mon ami _ ," Fergus turned on his heel to face him and spread his arms, arching his eyebrows as if he was expecting applause. “So? Surprising, right?”

“In fact, this is the last place I’d expected to find a hamburger. How did you find this lost oasis?”

Fergus reached into his overcoat pocket and pulled out a black Sharpie, rolling up his left sleeve to scribble something on his arm. John noticed that there were a series of notes there, as well as drawings and some numbers. Eccentric or not, Fergus Fraser needed to be introduced to the concept of a notepad.

"Lost oasis," he repeated, writing on his forearm. “It sounds like a great name for a song, maybe even an album.”

John took a deep breath. He had just helped his favorite band with the name of a song, possibly even an album.

“Sorry,” Fergus stuffed the pen in his pocket again and let the sleeve cover his notes again. “What were you saying? Ah... A friend brought me here yesterday,” he replied, clearing his throat. “Let's find a place to sit, shall we?”

Both slid into one of the nearest booths, sitting across from each other while choosing what to order. As if the universe had fulfilled his wishes, the hamburger prices were quite affordable and John even had the luxury of ordering a combo with chips and soda, knowing it was better to be on a full stomach when Fergus decided to tell him why he called him there. The two exchanged amenities for the first few minutes, breaking ice sheets faster than John thought possible, considering the fact that this was the older brother of the girl with whom he wanted to do very indecent things and, as if that weren't reason enough to make him uncomfortable, Fergus was still one of his idols.

“Where are Romann and César?,” he asked without thinking, immediately regretting it.

Fergus frowned, looking amused.

“So you  _ really _ are a fan.”

_ Brianna Fraser, why can't you keep that tongue in your mouth _ ?, he thought, almost immediately imagining other things she could be doing with her tongue. Pushing the thought away with great effort, he cleared his throat and shrugged.

“If you call someone who knows all your albums and knows all their songs in order a fan, well...”

Fraser smiled.

"And you are also a very talented artist, according to my sister," he commented. “She seemed to know your artistic skills well and commented extensively on how good you were with your hands.”

John felt his cheeks burn and his palms became sticky with sweat.

“I.. it’s just that I...”

"I would be very grateful if you would spare me the sordid details," Fergus asked, looking up at the waitress who had approached the table with the orders at the perfect time so that John could pull himself together. “ _ Merci, ma chérie. _ ”

The waitress seemed to be very shaken for a moment and stared at them, sliding her eyes from one to the other, too stunned to comment on anything before being called to another table.

"I bet she's trying to decide which one of us she wants to kiss first," Fergus commented in French, offering the young woman a wink as she looked over her shoulder at their table.

"You certainly earned points for being a foreigner," replied John, in the same language.

Fergus turned to him, surprised.

“You speak French,” it was not a question, just an observation. “Anyway, we're both foreigners.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But we all know that France beats England in terms of sexy accents. And besides, I'm not interested.”

He seemed to approve of that comment.

“Well, I didn't bring you here to flirt with waitresses. Or with me, just to be clear.”

My God, he would kill Brianna as soon as he saw her.

“Let's talk about business,  _ oui _ ?,” Fergus took a chip from John and waved it in the air, gesturing as he went on. “I'm working on a new album. Romann and César are with the big guys at this very moment, working out some details before coming here for us to start getting our hands dirty. I've already written some of the tracks, but we need to discuss a lot of things before we start producing them,” he stuck the chip in his mouth, chewing a few times before continuing: “Brianna told me that you liked our work and, from what I saw at Aunt Jo's gallery, you're really good at what you do. So, I was thinking, who better to design the cover of our new album than the fan that is hooking up with my sister?”

John stared at him for a moment, as dumbfounded as the waitress was a few minutes earlier.

“I expected excited screams or even fainting, but the silence is kind of embarrassing to me, John.”

“Sorry, I just don't know how to react.”

"Showing excitement would be a good start," Fergus shrugged.

“This is fantastic!,” John admitted, smiling from ear to ear. “I really like your art a lot, Fergus. You are amazing. It would be an honor, really.”

This seemed to satisfy him.

“Great. Of course, you'll need to hear all the tracks to get the general idea of the album, but I can send you some ideas of what I was thinking about later,” he got his Sharpie again in his pocket and John saw him scribble the words cover, idea, John with an unorganized handwriting. “Anyway, you’ll only be able to start working on it when those two arrive and we have enough for you to understand what we are trying to convey. Don't worry, we will give you credit. The money isn’t plenty, we’re not Auntie Jo, but it’s a fair payment.”

“I don't even know how to thank you.”

Fergus dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand.

"Do a good job and we'll call you again," he assured him. “Now, the other reason I called you here. What are your intentions with my sister?”

…

On the way home, John was feeling radiant. His week had been wonderful, and after lunch with Fergus, it just got better. He could hardly believe he would work with his favorite band doing what he liked best: creating. It was because of this feeling of amazement and happiness that he did not realize he was being followed. He had seen the black car when he left the hotel and said goodbye to Fergus, but there were dozens of equally expensive cars passing down the street or parked around the hotel, so he paid no attention to it,

Then, inside the Uber car, John saw the driver look in the rearview mirror and mutter something.

“What?”

"This black car, it’s been following us since Battery Park," he commented, making John turn around.

The car was a black sedan, like many others he had seen around. The glass was very dark, making him unable to see almost anything inside. The driver of the car, however, was nobody he knew.

“You don't owe anyone money, right?,” the driver asked, stomping a little on the gas when the light opened.

"Not that I know of," growled John, feeling the burger weigh in his stomach.

For the rest of the ride, the driver continued to look in the rearview mirror as he tried to find ways to use his cell phone as a mirror to see something without having to turn his neck almost 360 degrees. Whoever it was, they seemed to have gone the other way and both the driver and John seemed to be more relieved.

They crossed Brooklyn Bridge and, taking advantage of the hellish traffic, John decided to text Brianna.

**I got a job.**

The answer came a few seconds later.

**Another? What a hard working boy.**

He smiled and pressed the microphone next to the text box.

"Let's celebrate," he said. “I'll stop by your place at seven. Get ready.”

Brianna responded to the audio with a big question mark and he added.

**If you want to wear that black dress of yours again, I won't complain. Oh, and please get rid of Fergus.**

He could almost see her smiling in his mind.

"Here we are," said the driver, and John looked up, finally realizing that they had parked in front of his building.

"Thank you," he said, after paying for the ride and jumping out of the car.

His cell phone vibrated again and he looked down to see Brianna's answer, not noticing the approach of the black sedan, which parked right behind him, at the curb. The car door opened and John turned around, startled.

"Come in, darling," ordered Jocasta Cameron. “We need to talk.”

…

Mrs. Cameron did not kidnap him. In fact, the car remained parked outside the building where he lived, looking terribly out of place in that neighborhood. John sat on the pale leather bench, almost bursting with embarrassment when the seat made a very suggestive noise.

“Sorry, Mrs. Cameron,” he said, completely confused.

“Call me Jocasta.”

“Okay... Jocasta,” he tried again. “Do you want me to make another painting for the gallery?”

Jocasta looked him in the eye and, for the first time, John realized that she could, in fact, see him.

"I want to make an exhibition of your art, John," she said, studying him with those intense, disturbing eyes. “Brianna's exhibition was a success, yes. God bless that child. Since the charity event, I have received numerous messages asking me the identity of the mysterious painter. Everyone loved your work, even if they think it was painted by William Armstrong.”

“They liked it?”

“They loved it,” Jocasta smiled politically. “If the purpose of the event was not to raise funds, I would be talking to you for the Bahamas right now, totally free from worries. Even Gerald Forbes threw in the towel and wanted to buy one of the paintings.”

John was unable to control the smile on his face.  _ People liked his art! _ That was exactly what he had always dreamed of, the recognition he knew he deserved. He looked like he was about to float towards the ceiling with so much happiness. Would he get a sponsor?

“I don't understand why you refused the opportunity that I offered you, just as I don't understand Brianna's insistence in asking me to find a way to make your name and photos disappear from articles about the community center on gossip sites, but I don’t care. Whatever the reason, whether you're a drug dealer or a mobster, I don't care. You are  _ talented _ . I want William Armstrong working for me. River Run Gallery needs your art, John. Brianna would be  _ so _ grateful. You know, since she broke up with Mr. Wakefield...”

"You don't have to buy me, Jocasta," he interrupted, trying to make his tone as light as possible. She really didn't have to. “I'm in.”

…

At seven sharp, John rang the bell at Brianna's apartment and stared, astonished, at the stunning view of the woman before him. Her hair was loose and straight, falling over her bare shoulders, like lava running down her neck. His eyes wanted to follow the winding path towards the bold neckline that ended just below her cleavage. The dress was red and very tight, allowing him to admire the curves of her body, leaving very little to his imagination. He could also smell her perfume, intoxicating and sweet, floating around him like a hypnotic cloud.

"Lizzie was right," she said, with humor implied in her voice. “Men can't think straight in front of a red dress.”

John wanted to say that he didn't care about the dress at all and that he was more focused on what was under the shiny silk, but he contented himself with a dignified clearing and bowed, taking her hand in his and planting one slow kiss on the palm of her hand.

" _ Buona sera, _ " he said in Italian.

It was her turn to be disconcerted, flushing slightly as she straightened up, reaching more than six foot in height. With eyes level with his, John didn't even need to check to know that she had put on a pair of high heels. She really was all dressed up.

“What is all this?,” she asked, deliberately diverting her attention to the bags he was carrying.

"I stopped by the market before I came," he explained, turning to watch her as she closed the door. “I hope you're hungry.”

In a normal scenario, he would have excused himself before heading to the kitchen, but he was trying to look sexier and more confident. Halfway there, he looked over his shoulder: “Are you coming or not?”

Brianna followed, looking quite surprised by all of that. He wondered if he was being inconvenient, but it was too late now.

"Item number-don't-know-which on your to-do list," he began, taking the ingredients and a bottle of wine from the plastic bags. "Cooking with someone special. Or something like that. I don't want to be pretentious and assume I'm someone special, but I haven't cooked in a while and I thought this would be a great opportunity.”

She sat on the counter that separated the kitchen from the other rooms, frowning.

“Do you cook?”

“Why do you always sound so surprised when you discover something new about me?”

"You’re full of surprises," she admitted, smiling. “It's hard to know what you're thinking.”

He smirked, thoughtful.

"I can show you," he shrugged, trying to look as casual as possible. “After dinner.”

“What do you intend to do?,” she asked as he rummaged through the cabinets in search of two glasses of wine. “The one in the right.”

John followed the directions and set the glasses over the sink. Brianna approached him, placing a hand on his waist and bending forward, with the corkscrew in hand. He was well aware of their proximity; from her hand, which rested casually on his waist, to the few inches between her breasts and his back. Who could think of food when that woman was right there, so close.

He put the wine in the glasses, turning to pass one of them to her. They were, in fact,  _ very _ close. None of them moved, looking trapped at that distance as if a powerful magnet was keeping them there. Brianna raised the cup to her lips and turned the entire contents at once, taking vigorous strokes until she looked properly satisfied. John watched her, as if he were in front of a screen. His mind was good at recording details and fantasizing about them. He watched the movement of her throat as she drank and his mind traveled to places he had been exploring a lot lately.

_ Damn it! _ He thought. Who needed food?

Gathering what little self-control he had left, John took the empty glass from Brianna's hand and placed it in the sink next to his. There was a millisecond of hesitation, in which he silently asked permission with his gaze and she granted it, running her hands over the back of his neck and pulling him towards her.

Kissing her was not something he believed he would get used to anytime soon. The taste of wine flooded his palate and he realized, with a mixture of pleasure and surprise, that Brianna had taken over all his senses. Her fingers were intertwined with the hair on the back of his neck, keeping him trapped there. His hands, as if they had a life of their own, came down around her waist and closed around her buttocks, pulling her against him. Brianna made a low moan and he was sure she felt him, hard and desperate, between her legs.

With an almost sudden impulse, John lifted her off the floor and felt her wrap her legs around his waist. He turned to the counter, resting her on the furniture with all the delicacy that his current state allowed. Brianna's legs continued around his waist, seeming to close the distance between them until their bodies occupied the same space. His lips parted and he traced the path from her jaw, down her neck until he reached her cleavage. She threw her head back, pulling his head down with one hand, while releasing one breast of her dress with her free hand.

All of John's senses seemed to have been amplified to the maximum, sending dozens of sensory information to his brain as he tried to maintain self-control. The sound Brianna made when he put his lips around her nipple made the hairs on his body stand up and his pants felt too tight, too restrictive. He held her red hair in one hand, while the other sought the apex between her thighs. He found her, wet and ready for him, making him gasp in surprise. She wasn’t wearing panties.

She wanted him, perhaps as desperately as  _ he _ wanted her. With an almost superhuman effort, John pulled away, causing a grunt of protest as he crouched in front of her spread legs, feeling hungry.


	14. 13. FINE LINE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The moment you’ve been waiting for... or not... we didn’t promise anything, but we can assure you of lots of fluff between some sexy scenes. Don’t forget that comments are good for the author’s hearts, we love to know what you think! Enjoy the chapter!!

**BRIANNA**

The truth was simple: Brianna was waiting for that. She was asking for it, even.

For someone who tried to be rational most of the time, she had given up on it completely when it came to her feelings for John, just because there was no logical explanation for them. Whatever already existed between them had been completely intensified after that kiss. She just couldn't stop thinking about him and doubted she could maintain her self-control when she saw him again.

That's why she chose that dress, specifically. That was why she decided not to wear a bra (which would not favor the neckline of the dress in any way) nor a pair of panties – which would be a mere inconvenience for her to finally get what she wanted by the end of that night. The furthest Brianna had gone – sexually speaking – had been... nowhere. Perhaps because she was not as attracted to her ex-boyfriends as she was to John. Maybe she was crazy, but it wasn't just her desire for him... she  _ trusted _ him.

Maybe that was exactly the reason why she was crazy.

It didn't matter – at least that's what she repeated in her head as she got dressed, trying to look confident and, at the same time, hot. She expected no less from John's reaction when he saw her than that he devoured her with his eyes... and later with his mouth. Probably the conversation with Fergus hours ago had been the cherry on top for her to be sure she was ready for it.

"You never played the overprotective big brother before," she noted, after Fergus told her some parts of the conversation he had with John over lunch that made her blush.

"Well, maybe because I couldn't look directly at Roger's face without feeling like throwing up," Fergus said, and she laughed. “And honestly, I don't even remember the names of your other ex-boyfriends. But you didn't care about them the same way you care about John – and don't even try to fool me, I'm French. I can understand well the language of love.”

She rolled her eyes at that last part, but the rest was true. Fergus knew her well, but Bree suspected that maybe it was already obvious to everyone.

"And don't worry," Fergus assured her. If there was anyone she could trust, it was her brother. “John cares about you too. A lot. Even though neither of you knows what's going on between you... he cares.”

That answer had been enough for her. It was obvious, since Brianna was there, on the kitchen counter, about to give herself completely to John like she had never done to anyone else before.

His kiss made any thoughts in her mind go up in smoke. Brianna hoped she didn't look as out of her mind as she felt – she was still herself, of course, everything had been consensual and she had practically taken control when she lowered her cleavage, exposing her bare breast. She tried to think that that was a more powerful version of herself, more determined – a Bree that didn't need to think too hard before making a decision – yet any trace of thought escaped her head when she felt John's mouth on her nipple.

Heavens. John Grey could do much more interesting things with his tongue besides provoking her and speaking five languages.

Her mind was numb with pleasure and she had no idea what kinds of sounds she was letting out of her mouth, but whatever they were, they seemed to be an incentive for John. Good. She wanted his mouth on every part of her body, then she wanted to do the same with him, and she wanted him inside her afterwards.

When he bent down, the voice of her conscience that seemed to have been run over by a truck suddenly resurrected. Her legs were spread and he started kissing the inside of her thighs – his beard brushing her skin there seemed to have the same effect as fire on gasoline. She wanted him so much that she was surprised at herself, she didn't think it was possible to feel something as strong as that. As she had noticed since the day they kissed, John was a dominator. He realized that the wait was torture and decided to enjoy the moans that Brianna let out as his mouth slowly approached the part of her body that was pulsing with desire.

_ Oh my goodness. _

_ I'm really going to do this. He really will – we’re going to… _

She was about to get into full virgin panic mode when a cell phone started to ring.

It wasn't her cell phone, of course. Brianna didn’t even remember the last time she had taken her cell phone off of silent mode – perhaps never since she had bought it, which was quite inconvenient when someone needed to talk to her in urgent situations. It was John’s phone.

“John,” she whispered, almost not managing to say the word, let alone a complete sentence.

"Ignore it," he ordered, and that tone of voice made her shiver even more. John bit her thigh, getting closer to where she really wanted his mouth as quickly as possible.

But the cell phone did not stop ringing.

"It must... be important," Bree managed to breathe out. Her vision was still blurred, as if her entire body could only focus on the man between her legs.

John should know that she wanted to ignore the call as much as he did, but the ringtone had quickly become the worst soundtrack for sex.

"Don't move," he said, standing up, in that same authoritative tone that made her have only one possible reaction: she bit her lip to try to control all the impure thoughts in her mind. They probably weren’t just thoughts – at that point, Bree no longer knew how to tell what was real and what was not.

She tried not to be embarrassed when he walked away to answer the phone, his posture tense with anger and his tone almost resentful when he answered the call. It was Denny, she heard him say as she pulled on the top of her dress to cover her breast and then lowered its hem. Even though John had sounded absurdly sexy in telling her to stay exactly the way she was, Brianna knew that the mood had been ruined by Denzell and whatever he had to say.

She looked over her shoulder when she realized that, after uttering a few curses to Denny, John went completely still, silent. Brianna was good enough at reading body language to realize that the call had shaken him, and then she jumped off the counter to go to him.

“Hey,” she said in a soft voice, placing a hand on his back. “Is everything okay?”

"Willie," he said, a few seconds later, "is sick."

Willie? She didn't know that name, she realized. John had never mentioned it.

"I'm sorry," she said, genuinely concerned. "Is he your friend?"

His face was so pale and his eyes looked so sad that she was a little surprised by the answer, even though she could relate to whatever he was feeling at that moment.

“He’s my dog, actually,” John replied.

…

After putting on a black overcoat (and a pair of panties) long enough to cover the indecent dress she was wearing and thick enough to keep her warm, as the night was cold, Bree warned John that she just needed to switch the high heels for more comfortable shoes and they could get out. He insisted, of course, that she didn't have to go – but she was more stubborn than he was.

Brianna didn't know that John had a pet dog, and among the genuine concern she was feeling for the poor little animal – Denzell's tone seemed quite alarming, from what he had said – she was also excited to meet him. She was given a dog as a birthday present as a child, and Rollo was a faithful companion until Bree's third year of high school. After he passed away, Jamie gave Claire a cat as a gift, which they named Adso, after Grandma Ellen's pet cat when Da was little.

If asked, she would always say she liked dogs and cats equally. Which was a big lie.

They took the subway, certainly the more efficient way for getting from the Upper West Side to Brooklyn. Sitting in the wagon and waiting for each station to stop on the way, Brianna intertwined her fingers with John's and rested her head on his shoulder. He was scared – and rightly so, she knew the horrible feeling it was to see a pet suffering – so Bree decided to let him be silent, because a conversation just to distract herself seemed to be extremely unnecessary. Instead, she thought that her touch could assure him that she was with him and would not go anywhere.

When they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, Brianna realized that John held his breath.

“Look,” he started “It’s not... it’s not exactly the most pleasant flat in the world, and it may be half the size of yours, but ...”

Brianna rolled her eyes.

“You don't really think I care about that, do you?” she asked seriously, and put a hand on his face next, making him look at her. “John, I told you before. You don't need to be ashamed of what you have, or what you do, or where you live. None of this is important to me. You are.”

She didn't even realize that she had let out the last words until she caught his eye. At first, Brianna was afraid that John would think she was an obsessed nut – what kind of person would say something like that so soon after they met? Bree corrected her posture, tense, and thought she should probably move away from him so she didn't look so stupid.

Before she did that, he turned his face slightly and kissed her hand that touched him.

"I feel the same about you," he said, simply, which made her smile. When the train stopped at the station, which she supposed was his, John got up and held out his hand so she could stand up too.

She let herself be guided by John towards the building in which he lived, with her arm entwined with his. It hadn't been a long walk, and they went up the stairs until John stopped, strained, in the hallway between the doors.

"There is something else I forgot to tell you," he said, looking like he wanted to laugh at the whole situation, despite his obvious concern. "Willie ... he may scare you. He is not a normal dog. We suspect that, in fact, he is the antichrist.”

Bree snorted and gave him a little push, as if she were forcing him to open the door sooner.

“All dogs are angels,” she replied. “Hurry!”

John unlocked the door and went inside immediately – she followed him, realizing that Denzell was sitting on the floor next to the couch and seemed shocked to see her there, as if she were an intruder invading a place where she was not welcome (or perhaps it was just her melodramatic brain trying to sabotage herself).

“What happened?” John asked. The brown dog, Willie, was lying on the couch, curled up and shivering.

"He didn't eat anything all day, but he vomited bile and blood," Denny replied. "In addition to being extremely quiet.”

"Oh my God," Brianna blurted out, distressed. She knelt beside the couch too and brought her index finger to Willie's snout, which was hot and dry. “He has a fever,” she said, and then lightly touched the animal's belly with her fingertips, who released a cry that broke her heart. “His tummy is swollen.”

Realizing that neither man had said anything, Brianna looked over her shoulder at them. John and Denny were looking at each other with a funny face that she couldn't understand.

“What's it?” she asked, annoyed.

"Willie likes you," Denny replied.

"And Willie doesn't like  _ anyone _ ," John added.

The comment would have made her happy and smiley if she hadn't been so worried.

"Well, I like him too," she said softly, picking up Willie in her arms. For a dog that had been described by the owner as the ‘antichrist’, he seemed extremely quiet, apart from the small yelps of pain he let out. “One of you, look for the nearest open veterinary clinic. The other, call an Uber. And we also need a towel if he vomits in the car,” she ordered. John and Denny were standing still like two idiots. “Now!” she exclaimed, bringing them back into orbit.

Fortunately, there was a 24-hour veterinary clinic open a few blocks away, and traffic in that Dumbo region at that time was no longer as chaotic as usual. When they arrived and realized that there was no one else in the clinic's waiting room, Bree blew out a sigh of relief. It didn't take long for the vet to examine Willie, but he would still need to be tested to confirm his suspicion that the puppy had pancreatitis. Anyways, Willie would need to stay in the hospital for at least a night, getting IV fluid therapy because he was weak and dehydrated.

"You should take her home," Denny told John as the vet prepared Willie.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Bree intervened. “We’ll stay here with you, I don't work tomorrow,” she said, although she had worked hard that day and after that frightening situation the tiredness was starting to manifest.

"Honestly," Denny said, looking genuinely concerned for her. "Only one of us should stay, you can go. Change shifts in the morning?” He asked John.

“Yes,” John replied, putting an arm around Brianna's shoulders as if to say we're leaving now.

“Excuse me,” she said, frowning “Doesn't my opinion count here?”

“No,” the two men answered in unison. She wanted to argue, but then thought she was already getting too far into a subject that was none of her business. After all, they were Willie’s fathers.

When Denzell said that John should take her home, she imagined he was talking about her apartment. Brianna avoided using the subway as much as possible after nine p.m. because she didn't feel safe, and a taxi ride from there to her house would be at least two hundred dollars – she didn't have that money, she had just brought a wallet with the MetroCard and credit cards, so she was pondering what would be the smartest thing to do when John looked at her, as if he realized that her mind was working.

"You don't think I'm going to let you go home now, do you?" he asked. She opened her mouth to answer, but he was quicker. “No way. It’s late. Stay.”

Brianna thought about saying something to argue, but apparently her brain had melted. She just nodded, feeling a chill in her belly... in a good way.

Back at John and Denny's apartment, which was properly heated, she felt ridiculous when he took off her coat, leaving her with that dress that she would probably never be able to wear again without having a fit of laughter – in the future, of course, when Willie got better and the whole situation stopped being frightening and just became embarrassing. Bree felt her stomach growl and remembered: she hadn't eaten anything since lunch.

“You were so committed to cooking and we didn't even have time for that. It's a shame,” she said, although the look John had given her next said that he didn't regret anything, and least of all her. Brianna looked at the kitchen and was surprised: it was really small, but surprisingly clean for a place where two men lived. She remembered when she and Mama traveled alone, and when they returned home, it looked like a hurricane had passed through the house. She decided to imitate him and repeated exactly what he had said a few hours ago: “Are you coming or not?”

John laughed, and went after her.

Since she had played the busybody several times that night, she thought it would not hurt to do it again and started opening the cabinets, looking for ingredients to cook the one thing she was sure would be good.

“If your plans were to eat Italian food, consider this your lucky day. Pasta is the only thing I can really cook,” she admitted, organizing the ingredients she would use on the sink counter, next to the stove.

John hugged her from behind and she was unresponsive for a moment. It was just... a nice feeling, to have him holding her against him with affection. There was no explanation that made sense for her to understand why she felt so comfortable with him.

"You were amazing," he said, and she felt her face heat up. "I mean, knowing exactly what to do with Willie, while Denny and I were in shock.”

She giggled.

“Well, there is a simple explanation for this: you are men. Men cannot act in critical situations, they are almost always too shocked to assimilate what’s going on,” Brianna replied, mixing the ingredients for the sauce in the pot that was already on the stove and trying her best to continue acting like a normal human being while John kissed her neck.

"Put basil in the sauce," he said.

“What?” she frowned, “I never…”

"Seriously, trust me," he chuckled.

Bree rolled her eyes.

"I forgot that you are the chef here,” she said sarcastically, but did as she was told. While they were silent, she took the opportunity to add: “You weren't being pretentious, by the way.”

“Hm?” he asked.

"I'm going to cross the item off my list," she replied, in a more subtle way of saying  _ you are, in fact, someone special. _

John was smart enough to understand.

She had to admit that he was right: the pasta sauce had gotten a lot tastier than it usually did after she added basil. They ate on the couch, laughing and talking about how their day was between breaks. As soon as their plates were empty and they were silent, Brianna noticed – it would be impossible not to notice – John's gaze on her cleavage and thought that her skin was probably the color of her dress.

“Do you want to borrow a shirt?” he asked, surprising her.

“My God, yes,” she replied, laughing with relief, “I was thinking how uncomfortable it would be to sleep in this dress, especially after eating.”

"Just a minute," John said, rising from the couch with their empty plates, which he left in the kitchen before disappearing into the bedroom. He returned a few minutes later, dressed in a gray hoodie with purple NYU letters and pants made of the same fabric.

“Aww, how cute!” she said, smiling, “I also wear my Harvard and MIT hoodies when I'm feeling nostalgic.”

“You went to  _ Harvard _ ?” he asked, holding out a white button-down shirt for her.

“Oh, just for one semester. I got bored,” she shrugged. “I thought I had already told you this story.”

John had a funny face.

"You left  _ Harvard  _ because you were  _ bored _ ," he repeated. "If that doesn't scream Brianna Fraser, I don't know what else it could be.

She squinted, casting a wry look at him.

“Ha ha,” she said, and opened the shirt he had handled her. “My gosh, two of you can fit in here!”

“My point exactly. It will serve as a nightgown for you.” John crossed his arms and laughed, sitting on the couch again. She realized that, in addition to the shirt, he had also brought a blanket. “My brother, Hal, gave it to me. For someone so smart, he has no clue of size when he goes shopping for clothes.”

Bree laughed. She thanked him and asked where the bathroom was to change. Even though John had seen enough of her just hours ago, she suddenly felt very self-conscious and ashamed.

After changing, she folded her dress and faced herself in the mirror. John was right: the shirt was only a few inches above her knees. At that moment, another thought completely inappropriate for the moment reappeared in her mind as a vivid flashback: John teasing her in his living room because she had put “wearing my boyfriend's T-shirts” on the list. She got even more ashamed of herself.

Okay, John was not her boyfriend. She didn't even know what they were, exactly, but she was going to cheat and cross the list item anyway. After all, John himself offered to help her fulfill it.

John had laid down on what was, in fact, a sofa bed, and reached out to her, inviting her to join him. She snuggled up to him, feeling the heat emanating from John's body as she fit her face in the curve of his neck. Yes, the couch was nowhere near big enough for two tall people, but she couldn't imagine a better place to be at that moment.

"I'm sorry I ruined the night," he said.

Brianna pulled away slightly, just enough to look him in the eye.

“You didn't ruin anything, silly,” she said, smiling. “Okay, part of the night was stressful, but the rest...” she bit her lip, not knowing exactly what to say to complete.

“Well, I think I can redeem myself,” his hand went over her thigh until two of his fingers slid down her panties. “I know how, you know. If you want to.”

She felt her whole body shiver and held her breath.

“I would love to,” she admitted in a whisper. “But ... I think maybe we should go more slowly.”

Brianna managed to sound slightly calm while a wave of alarms seemed to be ringing inside her head.  _ What are you doing? You will push him away completely! _ competing with  _ You haven't known each other for that long, why do you think this is a good idea? _

John did not look disappointed. He just held her gaze as he took his hand away from her private parts.

“Go more slowly,” he repeated. “Okay, sounds good enough for me,” he smirked, and Bree did the same. She was so eager to kiss him that it hurt. “Brianna ... what are we?”

She feared that this question would eventually come up, but she thought she would be the one to bring it up.

"We don't need to put a label on it if we don't want to," she replied slowly. “I mean ... we're friends. And no, I don't do this with my other friends,” she said, before approaching his face and kissing him. It was not an overpowering kiss like the others, but a peaceful, calm one, and she felt that it was perhaps the most feeling-filled yet. John's eyes were still closed when she continued to speak: “We can ... let things happen naturally and see where it leads.”

He smiled and raised a hand to put the strand of hair that fell over her face behind her ear, a gesture so tender it made her smile again.

So, that was it. Go slow. Let things happen naturally. After that conversation, she snuggled up to him again and slept.

…

"John," Brianna moaned, and then woke up with a start that scared him.

Her heart was racing and her breathing was heavy. Bree could feel the strands of hair clinging to the back of her neck with sweat and sat down, trying to calm herself, even though John had also woken up by her agitated movements.

For a moment she wondered if the vivid memory of the dream was not messing with her head and she was imagining the delicious aching sensation in her legs until she realized that John was tightening his grip on her thighs. And that he, too, looked embarrassed.

_ My goodness _ , after saying that they were friends and that they should take it slow, had she moaned his name in his ear? She was a horrible person!

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I had...” and then she interrupted herself. Was there any casual way of saying _ I had an erotic dream with you? _

"Me too," he replied, looking tense. Before she could control herself, Brianna looked down at his pants.

"Oh," she said, like an idiot. More than ever she was in the mood to disappear. How could that situation become more embarrassing?

“Bree,” John was trying hard to sound calm, she realized, which only made him look weirder. “I need to... you know.”

“Oh,” she repeated. “Oh! Sure,” and she got up, giving him space to get off the couch.

If she were at least a little bit as crazy and confident as Lizzie, she would have offered to do that for him. However, it would be  _ really awkward _ if Denzell arrived and found her with her hand inside John's pants on the couch.

After the post-dream episode, Bree decided that she should go home, and John had to go to the clinic so that Denny could get some rest anyway. They awkwardly said goodbye and she asked for an Uber, feeling that the weather that morning was pleasant enough that she didn't need the overcoat, but there was no way she was going out in the city wearing  _ the  _ red dress. It was not exactly the walk of shame she had imagined.

Despite not meeting John for the entire week that followed, they kept talking every day. She had never noticed how much she liked to make phone calls – even if there was a good chance that if it was anyone else she would hang up after the first five minutes, tops.

It was Friday night again. A week after the fateful chaotic night, she was home alone. John was working, of course, on the exhibition he would be doing for the River Run Gallery. Fergus ... she didn't even want to know where – or more specifically, with whom – he was. At least her brother had the decency not to take girls to her apartment, and Brianna had started to think it was a really good idea for him to rent a place just for himself, but after using all her lunch hours that week to visiting lofts and apartments with him, Bree had officially given up. For someone who couldn't afford to pay exorbitant Manhattan rental prices, Fergus was very picky.

"Guess what came in the mail today," Bree said, holding the phone to her ear with one hand while the other clicked on the remote to switch channels on the television.

“A red lingerie that you will send me a photo wearing later?” John asked.

"You wish," she replied.  _ Mental note: buy red lingerie. _ “My mom sent Denny an autographed book! She even wrote “xoxo” on the signature!”

John let out a hearty laugh on the other end of the line.

“My goodness, he's gonna have an orgasm just by reading it.”

"I don't expect anything less," she laughed too. “I was wondering if I could take it to you tomorrow, at the gallery. So you can give it to him.”

Bree mentally high fived herself. She had discreetly said that she wanted to see him and with a good enough excuse that it didn't involve either of them.

"I would love the company," John said.

Of course he was working in the central circular room of the gallery, she imagined that Auntie Jo would really want his exhibition – or William Armstrong’s, whatever – to be in the main room of the building and she felt an enormous sense of pride. It was still unfair that John couldn't get credit for his art, but he didn't seem to care  _ that  _ much. In fact, she hadn't seen him that happy since she had met him – that should count for something. Besides, it wasn't as if Brianna had already thought of an effective solution to his problem.

If only his visa had expired recently... maybe there was a chance that she could ask for help from Auntie Jo; since the woman knew so many important people, Bree did not doubt that she had her contacts at the immigration office and at the U.S. Embassy. She really thought about asking for help from her great-aunt, after all, Jocasta had “fled” to the United States on a tourist visa only, and stayed in the country after the maximum period of six months allowed for that type of visa. When she met Hector Cameron and married him, the problem was resolved: she got a green card and an American citizenship years later.

Brianna said nothing, of course. She doubted that even her aunt could solve the problem of a visa that had expired three years ago, and she didn't even comment on that thought with John, because she was sure he wouldn't agree to share the secret with Jocasta.

"You are unusually quiet," John commented, without looking at her. He was still focused on the canvas in front of him, and Brianna was watching both his back and the painting. Heavens, even his neck was attractive.

“I thought you were better focused on silence. I mean, in addition to the background music,” she chuckled. “Besides, I'm appreciating your art.”

This time he looked at her over his shoulder.

“Appreciating my art or appreciating me?”

“You’re too full of yourself, has anyone said that to you?”

“At least twice a day.”

She pursed her lips to keep from laughing, and John left the paint palette and brush on the side table next to him before sitting on the floor in the center of the room.

"Come here," he said. She did.

Brianna got up from the chair to sit on the floor next to John, but not satisfied, she crawled until she was sitting on his lap. Bold move, she knew. There was a fine line between  _ going slower  _ and what her body really wanted to do when she was around him.

"I missed you," John admitted, looking her in the eye. Even though they had spoken to each other every day, exchanged messages and calls, he had missed her.

"Me too." Bree smiled, and held his face in her hands to kiss him.

The two seemed to want to make up for the distance of the past few days. The greedy kiss made Brianna hold him by the hair, pulling it lightly as his hands memorized every curve of her body. It seemed that John already knew all her weaknesses and took advantage of the knowledge to master it, but she responded by moving suggestively in his lap.

“I...” she started to say, her voice breaking, when his mouth was already biting the sensitive skin of her neck and she was starting to go into insecurity-panic mode again. “Do you want to eat something?”

John stopped what he was doing to laugh.

“I can't believe you're asking me  _ that  _ now.”

“I'm serious, you perv,” she poked him in the arm. “It's lunchtime and I'm starting to get hungry.”

John licked his lips as he looked at her face, laughing.

“Brianna, you would make an angel weep, and God knows I'm no angel,” he said, dramatically. “Okay, well, we can go. You should go ahead, I need time to... um, compose myself.”

She laughed softly, feeling a little guilty about it, and gave him a kiss on the cheek before getting up and picking up her bag.

On the gallery's ground floor, Brianna was surprised to find a blonde girl, looking genuinely interested in one of the paintings. Bree looked at the door and realized that Josh was not there, nor were any of the other guys who worked in security – thank God that girl was apparently harmless, but they urgently needed to start locking the doors when they weren't on time visit.

“Excuse me,” Bree said, making the blonde put her hand to her chest, scared. “Sorry,” she said, sincerely. “Can I help you?”

When the girl looked at Brianna, she was impressed. She wouldn't be surprised if the blonde was a model or actress, because people with that kind of beauty could never be just regular. The light, straight hair, cut at chin length, framed one of the most beautiful faces Bree had ever seen. The girl's beauty seemed to be angelic, while something inside of her said she recognized that face from somewhere. However, she thought she would remember those round blue eyes and the marked bone structure of her face.

“Oh, yes! In fact, you can,” the girl was English, her accent was obvious, and the delicate voice matched her appearance. She was a lot shorter than Brianna and dressed like Blair Waldorf from Gossip Girl. “I'm looking for John. Is he here?”

Brianna could not control the burning sensation in her stomach that surprised her. She was not a jealous person – at least that was what she thought until now. However, there was a beautiful, English girl who knew John and knew she could look for him in the gallery. If she knew that, she also knew his secret. And if she knew his secret ... she must be someone special.

She knew she was frowning as an automatic reaction to her jealousy, but Bree hoped she wasn't looking so annoyed. However, before she could answer that John was there and ask who the girl was, his voice came from behind, sounding as confused as Brianna felt at that moment:

“Dorothea?” He asked, and Brianna looked over her shoulder. John's eyes were wide and she realized, with sudden relief, from where she had recognized the girl. “What are you doing here?”


	15. 14. ON THE KNEES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers! Just wanted to say a quick thank you for everyone who's here with us every week, leaving kudos and comments and liking this story so far! What do you think will happen here just by the title of the chapter? Well... let us know if your guess was right at the end! Keep in mind we love to know what you think and your feedback is always very much appreciated ♥

**JOHN**

Dorothea Jacqueline Grey was a force of nature in every cell of her body. Since she was very young, she always liked projects and broken things. Some people might think of her as a spoiled, superficial, upper-middle-class young woman with few real problems in her life, and in a way, they were right. Dottie was relatively wealthy, John was sure she had never used public transport, and besides, she really had no major problems in her life. Superficial, however, was a word that could not be applied to her.

She knew exactly what privileges she had and did not hesitate to make good use of them, organizing marches and raising money for social causes in London. For someone so wrapped up in a bubble of perks and just out of high school, Dottie seemed to be more aware of her place in society than many other people with a much longer curriculum.

Her biggest project, however, had been her public image. Dorothea had at least two hundred thousand followers on her Instagram page and more than twice as many on her YouTube channel. She had started posting makeup videos, as thousands of other young people who wanted to explore the possibility of becoming digital influencers had done. These videos, however, ended up progressing to fashion tips, lifestyle and travel vlogs and relevant debates about everything Dottie found relevant and needed to be commented on.

_ “If I can expose an important topic to my audience and create a debate or reflection, why am I going to keep quiet?”, _ she had asked during the last family dinner that John had attended, almost four years earlier, when her father, John's uncle, commented on his daughter's position on abortion. That subject generated an unpleasant discussion and several looks of disdain towards Dottie, since everyone considered her too young to know what she was talking about – at the time, she was fifteen.

John, deep inside, admired his cousin and her courage. He was eight years older than her, but even so, he could not ignore the fact that that girl, who looked like she had just come out of a Barbie movie, was much more brave than he was.

Dottie was there when Percy exposed their relationship and John's sex life to his entire family. While he seemed to suffocate with the weight of the looks of disapproval and disgust from the people he loved most, she was the first to welcome him and make him feel supported.

_ “Isn’t John's boyfriend staying for dinner?" _ She was eight at the time, but her genuine curiosity and the naturalness with which she dealt with all that confusion – completely oblivious to the tense atmosphere that seemed to have exploded around her – kept him from crying like an emotionally disturbed child. In a strange and unconventional way, Dorothea always took care of John, and to see her there, in front of him, after so many years, seemed almost too surreal.

She had dyed her hair, he realized. The blonde streaks were short and framed her thin, delicate face. The dark roots, which many might consider sloppy, seemed perfectly on purpose; it gave her a carefree look that contrasted with the meticulously chosen clothes to maintain the aesthetics she exposed in her Instagram feed. Her blue eyes were the same as he remembered; big and intense.

"It's good to see you, too, Uncle John," she said, smiling before approaching and hugging him around the waist. “You shaved. You look like you're fifteen again.”

God, he had missed her.

“Uncle John?” Brianna asked, arching an eyebrow as John rested his chin on top of Dottie's head.

"She's not my niece," he began.

"We’re cousins," Dottie interrupted, pulling away from him to cast a disapproving look at him. “You are thinner and those dark circles under your eyes... I have a great face mask, you will love it.”

"Dottie is my cousin," explained John, ignoring the girl's comment. “She calls me uncle to be annoying.”

“I thought we had already gotten over that annoying talk.”

“If I remember correctly, you started calling me that because you thought I was old.”

"Spiritually speaking," said Dottie, dismissing the subject with a shrug. “Honestly, John, you see the world with a very negative view. Are you in therapy?”

"Dottie," he rolled his eyes. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

The girl seemed to study Brianna with a very interested expression, and John noticed that she had a smudged stain of blue paint near her chin.

“Dottie?”

"You have some blue paint here." She turned to John, arching dark brows and smiling a conspiratorial smile. “I wonder how it got there.”

"Dorothea," he murmured, rubbing the back of his hand over his freshly shaved chin. “I love you and I'm very happy to see you, but if you don't mind, could you tell me what the hell you came to do in New York?”

Dottie shrugged again and John caught Brianna's eye on him.  _ Does she know?  _ Her look asked.  _ No _ , his body language screamed.

"I decided to take a gap year," she replied, wiggling through the gallery as if she were really interested in the works of art. “I’ll probably start studying fashion next year and Dad thought it was a good idea to send me to know the land.”

“Uncle Charles thought it a good idea to send his only daughter to a country that he considers culturally poor and without values?” John frowned, not believing her.

“People evolve, Johnny.”

"Yes, and I'm straight," he replied, making her laugh.

"Oh, sure," Brianna murmured softly, looking like she was having a great time.

“My goodness, I'm sorry!” Dottie approached Bree. “My name is Dottie.”

"Brianna," they both hugged, and while Brianna seemed awkward, Dorothea exuded an almost contagious confidence. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“What a beautiful name!”

“Dottie... spill it.”

The girl grimaced, crossing her arms.

"Okay," she admitted, sighing. “Maybe I told Dad that I was going to take a modeling course in France and, just maybe, I changed the tickets a few days before and came to the United States to see my favorite cousin and get to know the university I want in my resumé. But it's just details.”

John closed his eyes for a long second, imagining the headache that her presence would bring him.

“Dottie, be honest. Why are you here? And how did you know that I would be here at the gallery?”

The girl seemed to be uncomfortable and that was a sight he was not used to.

“Daddy lets me take all the courses I want and, honestly, I think he sees my career as an influencer as just a hobby,” Dottie put a bleached streak of hair behind her ear. “When it comes to a college, he is adamant. He wants me to study Law, or Medicine, or even something vintage like Architecture. I could do what he wants, I know I could. I would have a lot less headaches if I did, but that is not what I want. I want to be a stylist, John. I want to have my own clothing line and work with something I love.”

“Dottie, you can't stay here... This crazy idea of running away and deceiving your parents is very bad,” Someone should crown him king of hypocrites. He didn't look at Brianna, but he could feel the aura of outrage she exuded.

“I know, I know! But I…”

“How will you support yourself?” John continued. “I barely have space for myself in my apartment and I'm pretty sure you don't have one of the biggest resumes to present at a job interview. You can't expect your Dad to pay your bills after you betrayed him like that.”

Her expression closed and John glanced at Brianna, silently wondering if he had gone too far.

"I have a job." Dorothea's tone went extremely cold. “I don't expect you to understand the concept of advertising and media monetization, but Dad hasn't paid for my things in almost two years. Of all the people in the world, I expected  _ you _ to understand exactly why I did what I did. Sorry if I was wrong, I will let you work in peace.” She spun on her heels, striding toward the gallery door.

“Dottie, it wasn't that ...”

“Oh,” Dorothea turned. “You should thank me for coming before they ambushed you during Christmas dinner.”

“What?” John looked at Brianna and then at Dottie, confused.

“Aunt Benny was extremely upset when she saw the article about the charity you and Jocasta Cameron are helping. I thought your parents knew, but when I asked, they were just as surprised as I was,” she said, arching an eyebrow as if daring him to lie. “We knew you were hiding something, but we never imagined it was the fact that you worked for one of New York's greatest art moguls.”

John's blood seemed to freeze in his veins. He must have looked terrified because Brianna put her hand on his arm and Dottie smiled a satisfied smile.

“How did you find this article?” Brianna asked and John thanked her mentally. He didn't trust his own voice, at that moment.

"Someone sent me an email with a link to the post," Dottie replied, much more softly.

“Who sent you the email?” He asked, feeling his heart hammer in his chest. Brianna had said that Jocasta had managed to make all his pictures of that night at the event disappear.

“I have no idea, I receive several emails from subscribers. One of them said they saw the exhibition and were wondering if that John Grey was the cousin I mentioned in my vlogs. Anyways, they are coming for Christmas,” she announced. “Whatever lie you are going to make up to hide how successful you are and that you will never come back to help Hal with the company, you better think about it soon.”

…

John was unable to eat anything for lunch. His stomach was upset and it looked like his nervous system was about to collapse. Brianna – blessed be that woman – prevented Dottie from disappearing into the streets of New York, calling her to have lunch with them and doing her best to keep the conversation flowing while he panicked. The awareness that he was exaggerating and that there was no reason to make such a storm out of a glass of water existed in some dark and forgotten corner of his brain, but he was too busy listening to the desperate scream from his fatalistic side.

For all those three years since his visa expired, John kept details about his life in the United States a secret because he knew that the lies would eventually be discovered and he was up to his neck with them. He talked to his parents and Hal almost every week, but he always withheld relevant information about what he was doing or what he was working on because he knew it would be a matter of time before they showed up at his door on the first flight from London to New York if they thought he was doing something they didn't think worthy of a Grey. It was not as if they devalued the other professions in the world, but how could he rather work as a waiter than help his brother run the paper company?

"Planet Earth calling," Dottie snapped her fingers in front of his eyes, abruptly yanking him out of the state of complete dread he was in. “Your phone is ringing.”

John blinked, looking from his cousin to Brianna, who looked very concerned for him.  _ Great _ , he thought.  _ Now you're screwing up with your lack of emotional stability. _

"It's Denny," he murmured, clicking the green button on the device's screen. “Did something happen? Is Willie okay?”

_ “And when is that child of Satan okay?” _ Denny's voice sounded annoyed on the other end of the call.  _ “Do you believe that I was asked to redo my paper on Genetic Constitution? I know it wasn't perfect and that I could have done a lot better if I had more time, but I'm sure that, even so, mine was the best job of that mediocre class.” _

"I'm sure it was," said John sincerely. “Did you have lunch already?”

_ "No," _ said Denny, and John heard a loud crack, like a door slamming shut.  _ “My God, I completely forgot that I need food to survive.” _

“And I wonder why you got a low grade in your paper, doc.”

_ “Ha ha. Funny, very funny. Where are you?” _

John looked at Bree and Dottie, who seemed to have forgotten his presence there, and were talking animatedly about Broadway musicals.

“SoHo. I was in the gallery,” he replied, almost hearing his friend roll his eyes over the call. Denzell had gotten tired of repeating how stupid the idea of working for Jocasta Cameron was, even under a pseudonym. “I'll send you the location.”

_ “I can't afford a bottle of water in this neighborhood.” _

"Don't worry about it," said John. “Bree is here... my cousin too.”

_ “Wait, what?” _ Denny sounded surprised.

“Hurry up, Hunter.”

He ended the call, turning to the girls.

“He's coming to find us.”

Bree pouted.

"I need to stop by the office to get the paperwork for a new project I need to deliver this week," she said, seeming to ponder that information. Her eyes went down towards the clock and she winced. “Damn it. I should go. Tell Denny that I sent him a kiss, okay?”

John wondered if he would get a kiss too and realized the same thought crossed Brianna's eyes. They stared at each other for a moment and then she looked at Dottie, smiling.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Dottie," she said.

"It was my pleasure," replied the londoner. “Please, we need to watch a musical together. Remember that I have no friends in this huge city!”

Bree laughed, nodding at John.

“Ask him to give you my number, we'll make an appointment for the weekend.”

Dorothea clapped excitedly.

"Well, I have to go now," Brianna announced, looking at John again as if she didn't quite know what to do with him. “See you around, Grey.”

"That's right," he muttered, scowling. “Pretend you didn't have your tongue in my mouth just an hour ago.”

She turned red like a very ripe tomato and Dottie laughed, making him realize that he had said it out loud.

"You're an idiot," she cursed, bending to give him a quick kiss before going to take her order note and head over to the counter.

John smiled, despite the uncomfortable bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He noticed Dorothea's analytical gaze on him and made a face.

“What?”

“You’re in love.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes.

“I'm not in love.”

Dottie stirred her green juice thoughtfully.

"I don't remember Percy much," she said, seeming oblivious to the fact that he had gotten tense at the mention of that name. “I was too young. But the way you looked at him... it’s completely different from the way you look at her.” She sipped some more of the juice, which was almost over, and continued. “Which is good. We all know how that relationship ended.”

"I certainly remember," he murmured, playing with the salt shaker.

"She looks at you the same way," Dottie commented, seeming to appreciate a little too much the fact that she noticed something she believed to be obvious. Nonsense, how long did he and Brianna know each other? Two months? Probably not even that. “But what do I know, right? People think I'm still a child, regardless of whether I'm of legal age.”

“You were never a child, Dottie. You went from a cute baby to an annoying teenager and anything that happened in the meantime was lost in limbo. Besides, here you’re still a minor.”

"Leave it to the United States to create a system of laws that makes no sense at which at sixteen you can vote and drive, but you can only drink and enter casinos at twenty one," she rolled her eyes. “Did you know that most cases of alcohol abuse happen because young people started drinking hidden and before the allowed age?”

"Are you saying that you think youth should be able to drink at sixteen?" he frowned.

"I'm saying I'm eighteen and I'm very capable of realizing that you're in love with Brianna and that she feels the same way about you."

“Dorothea, you crossed an ocean to piss me off. That's a lot of effort, don't you think?”

She shrugged.

“I'm trying to distract you from whatever is bothering you.”

John's expression closed and he felt the discomfort in his stomach again.

“See?” she stirred the greenish foam at the bottom of her glass. “I know you. You’re good at forgetting things, but whenever you remember something bad you do that strange thing with your face. It's like you're scaring problems by making a face.”

"You really came to this continent to piss me off," he muttered.

She laughed.

“Look, I know you didn't expect to see me here and I'm sorry for showing that article to your parents,” Dottie suddenly looked serious. “I don't know what's bothering you and I'm not going to pretend to understand why you hid this job from us or why you never came home, but please don't forget that I love you and I’ll support you in whatever you do. Unless it's illegal. Oh, who am I kidding. I don't care... just don't hurt human rights, okay?”

"This is my home, Dottie," he said simply, thanking her mentally for being there, regardless of the growing panic that seemed to want to consume him from the inside out.

"I know," she assured him. “That's another thing I can see in your eyes. Now, if you don't mind, where the hell is your friend Daniel?”

…

Denny met them almost an hour later and they had to go to another restaurant, as Dottie and John had started to get angry looks from the employees. Perhaps it was a past skill in the Grey's genetic material, but he instantly noticed the way Denny looked at Dottie and his sullen expression seemed to lighten up as if the sun was coming up for the first time on a cloudy day.

He might not have been the greatest flirtation expert, but he had been with enough men and women to notice patterns. Denny was obviously interested – the frantic movement of his left leg under the table made his degree of nervousness very clear – and John wondered how his friend didn't explode or had a syncope when Dorothea first touched him. Here's the clear rule of flirting with men, guys: touch. No matter who you are or how brazen you are towards the targets of your interest, if you are flirting with a guy you will automatically start to run your hand over him. Brianna did this to him all the time and he had done the same to his ex-boyfriends countless times, it seemed casual, but it had an implicit message there.

Dottie had never, in all her eighteen years of life, been interested in medicine at all. She hated Grey's Anatomy and anything that was set in hospitals, but as Denny spoke, her attention seemed to have been captured entirely.

John tried to feel uncomfortable that his best friend was interested in his cousin, but he couldn't. Denny was an incredible guy.

"So," said Denzell, clearly unable to deal with the attention received. “Did John tell you about the exhibition at the gallery?”

Dottie pursed her bulky lips, as if the last thing she wanted to do at that moment was to talk about her cousin.

"No," she replied, giving John a pointed look. “One of my fans sent me an email asking if the John Grey of the article was my relative.”

Denny looked surprised.

“Article?”

John wanted to strangle Dorothea.

"About River Run Gallery," explained Dottie. My God, didn't she know when to shut up? “He convinced Jocasta Cameron to finance a community center.”

Denzell did not look at his friend, but his tone seemed quite expressive.

“Ah yes,  _ that _ article.”

"My parents are coming over for Christmas," John announced. If the shit was going to hit the fan, let the crap fly everywhere, then.

“They’re doing  _ what?” _

He shrugged, trying to appear calmer than he really felt. If Denny realized how desperate he was, he would certainly start the speech about telling Hal and asking for help to renew his visa. The last thing he needed was his family getting into his life like a lifeboat coming straight from hell.

"It will be cool," he said without much enthusiasm. Dottie snorted and Denny raised his eyebrows.

“Aren't you worried?” he seemed indignant.

“Worried about what?” Dorothea, who until then, seemed extremely uncomfortable with the focus of the conversation not being Denzell anymore, seemed much more interested.

“Well, for a start, he lives on my couch.”

" _ Our _ couch," corrected John irritably.

"Details." Denny made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I don't know your parents, but from what you told me, I don't think they'll be very happy when they find out that their son is living in a 270 square feet apartment.”

"Lord have mercy," Dottie murmured, leaning back in her chair as if she couldn't bear the weight of that information.

“Hunter, shut up, alright?” He ordered, crossing his arms and leaning back as his cousin had done.

He would not despair.

Not in front of them, at least.

…

That night, John was watching a documentary on respiratory systems with Denny when his doorbell rang. He looked at the time on his cell phone, frowning. It had only been a few minutes since he had ordered the pizza. His eyes went over the message app icon, but Brianna hadn't answered him yet. She had commented that she was going out with Marsali and Lizzie and they were flirting by text, as usual, until she stopped replying.

“I’m going!”

John got up and walked to the door, cursing Willie who started to bark when the doorbell rang again. He switched on the light before opening the door and coming face to face with three beautifully dressed women.

“Bree?” He raised his eyebrows, quite aware that he wore only a T-shirt and boxer shorts. “Lizzie? Marsali?”

They were drunk. This was obvious from the way they laughed softly, seeming not to want to let him see how much fun they had. Brianna straightened up and knelt before him. John had imagined several scenarios in which she would be on her knees before him, and in most of them they were without clothes and – most of all – without witnesses.

"John," Brianna began, sounding much more sober than the other two, even though she was staggering slightly. “I could comment on the weather or ask for your opinion on the next gallely exhibition... gallely...” she blinked, confused. “ _ Gallery _ . But, instead, I would like to ask. Will you marry me?”

He laughed, because Lizzie and Marsali were laughing too. It was only when he noticed the intense, longing look she was giving him that he felt a chill go up his spine. This was a bad time to not be wearing pants. Drunk or not, he was sure she wasn't kidding and let out a breath – which he didn't even realize he was holding – through his nose.

“Oh, dear God in heaven.”


	16. 15. TERMS AND CONDITIONS

**BRIANNA**

Brianna wasn’t crazy.

At least that was what she was repeating to herself over and over – what was that saying like?  _ A lie told a thousand times becomes true _ .

Maybe part of her was already thinking about it before, no matter how much she tried to deny and hide it, and that’s why the absurdity that Lizzie said didn't seem  _ so  _ absurd at the time. She was thinking about it even though she didn't want to, which was probably exactly what Auntie Jo had planned – Bree had once again been a victim of the MacKenzie effect.

“So …” Jocasta asked the night Brianna went to visit her, in the middle of the week, to check if she was doing fine after the surgery and to keep her company for a little while too. “What are you and John now?”

Brianna looked up at her aunt with a raised eyebrow.

“What kind of question is that?”

“Well,” Jocasta shrugged, looking exasperated, “You, thank God, are no longer with that unbearable man. And even if I haven't regained my sight, I can see that there is something going on with the two of you.”

“Well, you're imagining things. We're just friends,” Brianna said, looking suddenly very interested on her phone screen. Okay, part of that sentence was true, and she certainly wasn't going to go into details with her great aunt.

Jocasta was clever and observant. She was silent for a few minutes, but Bree could feel the woman's eyes on her.

“I like him,” said Auntie Jo. “In many ways, he reminds me of Hector.”

This time Brianna couldn't help but laugh. Did John, an illegal immigrant with a dozen jobs to survive in New York, remind her great aunt about her late millionaire husband? She should tell him that, they would both have a good laugh.

“Oh yes? How?” she wanted to know.

"Hector was very smart and artistic," Auntie Jo said. Brianna remembered other stories she had heard about the great uncle she had never met. As much as Hector was not an artist, he was a lover of paintings and sculptures. That's how he met Auntie Jo. “And terribly charming, like John. You should be with someone like him, Bree.”

Brianna almost choked and tried to hide it with a laugh.

“Okay, Auntie Jo. I'll let him know that you said that and we'll see if he's interested,” she said, changing the subject shortly after.

Perhaps the conversation with Jocasta should be the last thing Bree should be thinking about in that moment – even if, in fact, she didn't want to think about anything at all. She didn't even want to be at that party to which Lizzie dragged her, along with Marsali. She had promised to go so long ago that she had completely forgotten about it, but Lizzie Wemyss made sure to remind her very quickly. Despite the considerable amount of sweet and colorful drinks she had, she still didn't feel close to being in the mood to party.

“Do you know who Marsali is hooking up with?” Lizzie asked, dancing to the deafening music while Brianna stirred the pink straw in her empty glass. Marsali had left them just seconds ago to go to the club’s restroom.

“Is Marsali hooking up with someone?” Brianna frowned. She knew that on a scale of zero to ten, Marsali was practically a ten in terms of discretion (and Lizzie was a zero). However, the blonde still shared a few things about her sex life with her friends, she just didn't give as much details as Lizzie did.

"Of course she is" Lizzie laughed, as if Bree was an idiot. “She has that glow of someone who practices yoga or is having a lot of orgasms, and we both know that she doesn't like yoga. I thought it was someone from work, that you knew. It must be from college,” she wondered, placing her hand on her chin. When Brianna remained quiet, Lizzie asked, "What's the matter?"

“What are you talking about?”

"You look like you want to die," Lizzie observed, "and it's kind of, like, killing my vibe."

Brianna rolled her eyes, thinking of replying to her best friend with a sarcastic comment, but Lizzie seemed genuinely concerned about whatever was bothering her. She considered lying for a second, or at least making up some lame excuse, but she didn't have to: after all, Lizzie already knew everything, and while Marsali was in the restroom they could talk about it.

She tried to summarize the whole story: Dottie's earlier appearance in the gallery, especially the part where an unknown person had sent her an article about John and that his parents were coming over for Christmas while he remained without a solution for his situation.

Lizzie stopped dancing and almost fell over. Leaning on the table to sit, she looked at Brianna, very drunk and very serious:

“You should marry him.”

Brianna felt her blood run cold. She was silent for about five seconds before letting out a laugh through her nose.

“Gosh, for a moment I thought you were serious.”

“And I am!” Lizzie said. “Did you know that 25% of the green cards issued every year are by marriage? And that this is the easiest way for an illegal immigrant to get a resident visa?”

“No, but I know that this type of marriage is a crime,” Brianna replied, “By the way, how the hell do you know all this?”

Lizzie snorted.

“Monika,” she explained. “You have no idea how much research I've done since she and my father got together. I thought he would feel better after I explained about the scam and everything in case one day, you know, she abandoned him.”

Brianna wanted to slap Lizzie. The theory about her stepmother being a scammer should have been long forgotten because, well, mr. Wemyss didn't have much money or beauty to offer, so Monika should really love him.

Although ... now that Lizzie had mentioned it, a permanent residence could also be something interesting to achieve through marriage.

“Okay, genius, I appreciate your effort,” Bree said “But do you really think John would accept something like that?”

“If he doesn't accept, he's an idiot. It would be the easiest way to solve his problems,” Lizzie said. Brianna found it incredible how that girl could say the craziest things in the world in the most natural way. “You should talk to him about it, at least. If he doesn't want to marry you, I will. I mean, marry  _ him _ , although you're also a hottie,” she laughed, blowing a kiss to Bree, who grunted.

“Marry whom?” Marsali asked, magically reappearing beside the two girls as she pulled up the neckline of her dress.

“John! Don't you think she should marry him?” Lizzie asked, euphoric.

If Marsali had been at least a little sober, she would have said at once that Lizzie was crazy and that she was talking nonsense. Which was not the case.

"Okay, then," she said, bursting out laughing right after and infecting Lizzie to do the same. The two girls started shaking Brianna by the shoulders, insisting that she should marry John. She felt much more dizzy than she already was from the booze.

"If I'm going to do this, you need to get me more drunk," Brianna said, making the other two scream with joy.

She woke up, feeling extremely sore and uncomfortable and remembering the events of the party as if it had been a strange and noisy dream. It took Bree a while to figure out that she wasn't in her bedroom. Before she started screaming, afraid that she had been kidnapped, she blinked and saw an old, white dresser beside the door in front of her. On top of the dresser were several medical books, including Mama's, and a few picture frames: she identified Denny with a girl who looked very much like him in one of them.

So she was in Denzell's bedroom, which probably didn't mean a good thing. Even worse considering that Marsali and Lizzie were sleeping on top of her, disheveled and drooling. That bed was ridiculously small, and it seemed even smaller with three tall women in it.

Brianna got up with difficulty, trying not to wake her friends (although, due to their condition the night before, she doubted that even an earthquake could wake them up) and stared at her reflection in the mirror next to the dresser, horrified. Her hair was looking like a bulky mane, there were traces of her lipstick spread over one of her cheeks and mascara dripped and hardened under her eyes. She tried to wipe her face with the back of her hands and pulled the hem of her skirt down a little bit, as if she could look more presentable. It didn't work, of course. Lizzie had said the night before that the outfit made Bree look like a rich tramp.

The first one she saw when she opened the door was Willie. The dog came running towards her with its tongue hanging out and its tail wagging, and Brianna bent down to pet him and pick him up.

“Hi, dear!” she said, her voice as pitched as it always was when she spoke to animals. It was good to see him again, this time looking healthy and happy. She was smiling when she stood up and saw the two men in front of her... who, by the look on their faces, must have been talking about her at that very moment. “Er ... good morning!” she started, not knowing what she could say to explain herself. She turned to Denny first, but before she could open her mouth again, he turned and went into the bathroom, leaving her alone with John and Willie in the living room.

He was holding a coffee mug and wearing glasses. It was different to see him with glasses, but they didn't make him any less attractive. In fact, he looked even more charming, and she thought it was too early ( _ what time was it? _ ) to have inappropriate thoughts.

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” he asked “And an aspirin?”

"God, yes," she replied, laughing softly, and went to the couch to wait for him while John went to the kitchen.

Willie growled in her lap when John approached and looked quite upset when Bree put him back on the floor. The dog decided to lie beside her feet while she held the cup of coffee in one hand and the aspirin pill in the other, feeling her heart pounding inside her chest and an enormous shame of herself when John sat beside her on the sofa.

"So..." he said, after a few uncomfortable minutes in silence. After swallowing the pill, Bree started to drink the coffee. “What do you remember of last night?”

“Oh, damn, did I humiliate myself more than I remember?”

John laughed.

“Unless you're talking about the, um, proposal,” Brianna bit the inside of her cheek, gathering all her strength to keep her posture upright and look at him. “Because I remember that part. And I was serious.”

His smile faded.

"I can't believe," John said, "that I thought you were perfect when, in fact, you're completely crazy."

_ Ouch _ .

Well, he wasn't wrong, was he? He had also said that Katherine was crazy for saying that she was his girlfriend the same day she met him, and Brianna had proposed two months after they met. Maybe she was just as bad as Kat. Or worse.

John was probably waiting for Brianna to say "I was just kidding!" or laugh so that he could breathe relieved, but when he saw that she was still serious, his face went even paler.

“Bree…” he said, this time looking very cautious, like someone in front of a mugger or wild animal. “I... um, I like you very much, but...”

“Oh, for God's sake!” she exclaimed, annoyed, making him startle. “Do you think I came here to propose because I'm in love with you, you idiot? How about thinking twice? No, I'm not as crazy as you think, just crazy enough to try to help you with your…” she interrupted herself, stopping the shouting to continue, quietly, as if someone was spying on them. After all, the building's walls could be thin: “Your... problem.”

John got up from the couch and rubbed his hands over his face.

“Seriously? Is this the solution you thought of?”

“25% of the green cards issued in the country are by marriage, and this is still the easiest way for an illegal immigrant to obtain permanent residence,” she replied. Blessed be Lizzie and her collection of random facts.

“A fraudulent marriage is a  _ crime _ , Brianna,” John snarled, “Do you know what that means? Not only me being deported, but you also being arrested!”

“It’s only a fraudulent marriage if they prove it.”

“Isn't the fact that we met two months ago enough proof?” He asked, his eyes wide.

Bree sighed. She still couldn't believe they were actually having that conversation.

“We can lie, create a story. Marsali can help us by forging fake texts and emails with old dates, making photo manips…” for someone who was about to freak out, she was sounding very logical. John looked like he was about to combust.

“What would we say to people? To your parents?” he asked. “You didn't end a relationship that made you unhappy just to please your mother, do you think she would be happy for you to marry a random guy just to get him a green card?”

Brianna frowned.

“This may come as a shock to you, but I don't tell my parents everything that happens in my life. They would never know,” she said, “Maybe just in a few years, after you applied for citizenship and we got divorced in secret, maybe not. Who cares? Certainly not  _ your  _ parents,” she pointed out, “especially after they see you living in my apartment and with your documents on the way.”

That last part seemed to hit him like a punch in the gut. For a moment Bree felt guilty and almost apologized, but she knew that John needed a reality check to understand her at that moment.

“Look, it wouldn't be that difficult, okay?” she continued, this time trying to sound calmer. “We just need to keep up appearances. My apartment has two bedrooms and Fergus is looking for a place of his own, he’ll be leaving soon. We can stop with... this,” she gestured, awkwardly, pointing at him and herself to indicate whatever they both had, “and honestly, I wouldn't mind that you kept going out and dating other women or men as long as you’re discreet.”

John had gone from pale to completely red in a few seconds, and she thought that he was starting to turn a little green.

“Are you giving me free pass to  _ cheat on you _ ?” he asked, outraged.

Brianna rolled her eyes.

"You wouldn't be cheating because it wouldn't be a real marriage," she replied.

He started pacing around in that extremely small living room, and watching him started to make her feel dizzy. Bree decided to finish drinking the coffee that was already getting cold in her cup, almost feeling like she could hear the thoughts hammering in John's head.

"I just have one more question," he said.  _ Thank goodness _ , she thought. “Why?”

She frowned, not understanding.

“Why would you do that? To risk committing a federal crime, and go through a lot to try to cover up the lie... for me. Why?”

Bree bit her lip, even though the answer to that question was easy.

“Because,” she took a deep breath before continuing, “I know part of this is my fault. Not the most part, the credits of staying illegally in a country for three years are all yours. But I made you meet Auntie Jo, and she did... what she did. We don't know if the person who sent the email to Dottie was really a curious fan or someone who secretly hates you, knows your secret and wants to expose you to your family, but in any case, it was my fault you ended up in an article to begin with. I said I would help you think of something and... well, if that's the most I can do, I don't care. I want to help you. And no thanks, I'm not in love with you,” she repeated, making a face. “But I still care about you enough to do that.”

John heard her with his arms crossed and his face hardened, but something she said seemed to soften him. He sat down next to her again and she realized that even though the morning was a little cold, he was sweating.

“I really hope you know how much I appreciate it,” he said, “and that I don't think any of this is your fault. None of it. Hell, if I can blame you for something, it’s for giving me the chance to live the best moments of my career so far.”

She smiled.

"I don't want to stop... this," he imitated her, gesturing to indicate the space between the two of them.

“Me neither,” she replied immediately, wondering if she had sounded as relieved as she felt. “But I thought it could make the whole situation easier for you.”

John chuckled, as if she had just told a joke. Perhaps after that conversation nothing else in life could surprise him.

"Actually, it's the other way around," he said. “I accept.”

Brianna's eyes widened.

Had she heard it right? Did he say he accepted?

My God! Did that mean she was  _ engaged _ ? Wow, she never thought she would get engaged hungover on a couch. What did that mean? Oh, damn, when should they go to the city hall?

"But on my terms," John continued, "I never considered marrying someone I didn't love. It just always seemed totally out of the question for me. And I haven't changed my mind.”

Bree put her hand over her forehead, exasperated.

“Oh, my God, are you  _ really _ going to complicate this further?”

"Brianna," he said, and Bree felt the typical shiver down her spine that she always felt when he said her name. "This is serious for me, and it is important. What we have... whether it's just chemistry or a connection, it's incredible. If you suggest that we live on appearances, why don't we try to... to do it differently? You had talked about letting things between us happen naturally, we can take this seriously. Without a deadline, of course. Screw my parents and my expired visa, I will  _ not  _ force myself to fall in love with you and you with me just to get married as soon as possible. If it doesn't work out by then, we pretend that nothing happened, or if it doesn't work out later, we ask for an annulment or divorce. It seems more… appropriate, although none of it is normal.”

She left the empty cup of coffee at the foot of the couch, next to a sleeping Willie.

"You're as crazy as I am," Brianna said, "but in a different way. Or did you just propose a possible real marriage to try to scare me?”

“Did it work?” He asked, looking hopeful.

Brianna tapped her index finger on her chin, her brow furrowed.

“No”

"Damn it," he replied, smiling.

She thought of answering "okay" or "I accept your terms", but she knew what the best answer was. John stared at her, waiting for her to say something, and Brianna pulled him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him.

Her kiss might have taken him by surprise at first, but he quickly returned it. Brianna kissed him slowly, the kind of kiss to savor and set her body on fire from head to toe, feeling the taste of coffee on his tongue and the frenzy of pleasure burning between her legs. The kind of kiss that was almost as good as fantasizing about him before bed.

She pulled her legs up onto the couch and quickly moved to his lap, fingers entwined in John's hair as his hands moved, expertly, down her curves to grab her ass, bringing her even closer and fitting her hips in his. In response, she moved against him just to make him moan softly before moving her face away from him, just inches apart, and then pressing her lips to his in a quick peck.

"Good luck trying not to fall in love with me," she said, blinking innocently.

“You…” he started, with a smirk of someone who couldn't decide if he would curse or kiss her first, but whatever was interrupted by a familiar voice that made them both look back.

"I'm just saying," Lizzie shrugged, talking to Denny. Brianna was mortified. How long had he been there? How much had he heard? "That this could be  _ us _ ," she pointed to Brianna and John, "but you don't want to give me a chance."

“Lizzie!” Brianna exclaimed, leaving John's lap and returning to the seat beside him. Denzell looked terrified. “Sorry about that, Denny. Usually she doesn't wake up this horny, but she'll behave, won't she?”

“Who doesn't try doesn't get some,” Lizzie shrugged, indifferent, and approached them, looking suddenly excited. “Guess what! The Drama Queens chose this year's Halloween theme!”

Seeing John's confused face, Brianna laughed.

“Drama Queens is Lizzie's theater group,” she explained. “Every year they have a Broadway musical themed Halloween party, and everyone has to dress up according to it.” Turning to her friend again, she asked: “So?”

“Guess what.”

“Hamilton?”

“Yes!” Lizzie replied, and the two squeaked happily, thrilled. Lizzie was praying that Drama Queens Halloween would finally be Hamilton-themed, and apparently the theater gods had answered her prayers.

"I thought the Hamilton hype was over already," John murmured, causing the two of them to immediately shut up and turn to him with deadly looks.

“What did you say?” Brianna asked, at the same time Lizzie exclaimed:

“Do not speak of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s work like that, you heretic!”

He shook his head, adjusting the glasses that had slipped a little bit over his nose with his index finger.

“What? I never watched it,” he said, “it's not like I have hundreds of dollars to watch a musical on Broadway.”

“Well, alright, that’s not so bad. You can still be converted,” Lizzie said, making Brianna laugh. By the way, she was right. Bree now had a perfect excuse to re-watch one of her favorite musicals and drag John along with her.

"While you guys talk about Hamilton, I'm going to wake up Marsali," Bree said, getting up from the couch and making room for Lizzie. "I think we've invaded Denny's space and privacy enough for a lifetime. He locked himself in the bathroom before I could apologize for stealing his bed.”

"Don't worry about it," John said. "It was probably the first time in a long time that that bed received women.”

She giggled and walked back to the bedroom. Marsali was still lying in the mess of sheets and pillows when Bree felt the mattress vibrate. It was the first time that day that she remembered her cell phone – where the hell had it gone?

“Marsali, wake up!” she said, moving the sheets to try to find the phone. No one at work would call her on a Sunday morning, so it could be Mama or Da. Or Fergus! Bree vaguely remembered telling him not to wait for her before leaving for the party, but her poor brother had no idea where she ended up that morning.

Their cell phones were of the same model, so the confusion was normal – seeing that the cover of the device was different from hers, Bree realized that the phone vibrating in her hand was Marsali's. She would have immediately dropped it, without bothering to see who was calling her friend, since she hated to feel that she was invading someone’s privacy and certainly would not want them to do the same to her. However, when she saw the photo on the screen, she couldn't look away.

The contact named “F.” plus a heart emoji had been saved with a selfie of both of them. The quality of the photo was not the best due to the low lighting of the place where they were and it looked a little shaky, but the faces of Fergus and Marsali were obviously visible. He was hugging her from behind, with his chin on her shoulder, and they had huge smiles on their faces - bigger than she had seen in both of them in a long time.

"Oh... my... head," Marsali growled, stretching out on the bed and covering her eyes with her hands at the same time that Fergus hung up, and notifications of texts from him appeared on the screen. Bree dropped the device, gaping at her friend.

Marsali sat on the bed, looking as confused as Brianna was feeling.

“Where are we?” she asked. “What happened?”

And Brianna countered the questions with an even better one:

“Are you sleeping with my brother?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little drama never killed anybody and we are living for it, as you all may have noticed by the unnecessary amount of it we have put in this story (guilty!). Well, we’re having fun — and hopefully you readers are too! Let us know what you think is going to happen, from Bree’s proposal to her discovery in the end. We hear you, Fersali shippers, and your moment is coming, you can be sure of that.  
> As always, comments and kudos are always appreciated. Thank you for keeping up with us ♡


	17. 16. NECESSARY CHANGES

**JOHN**

John had never had much conviction in all of his twenty six years of life, and yet he was sure of one thing: Brianna Fraser was crazy. Crazy, delusional, mad, nuts, insane, manic, lunatic, disaffected, mental and definitely unbalanced. He didn't have enough vocabulary  — in any of the languages he spoke  — to describe how discredited he was with that conversation they had just had.

_ Marriage _ . There was an almost supernatural force around that word, something strong enough to make him blink, astonished, as he replayed all of his decisions that had put him in that situation. God, he had agreed to marry that girl he barely knew to get a permanent visa in the country he had chosen as his home. Maybe he was just as emotionally unbalanced as she was.

“Why are you so mad at me?” Marsali's voice made him look up. The sound came from Denny's bedroom, but Lizzie seemed too busy on her phone to notice the young woman's angry tone. Denzell hadn't left the bathroom yet and John doubted it would happen anytime soon. “This is ridiculous, Bree!”

“Um… Lizzie?” John called, making her sit up on the couch and shrug, without taking her eyes off the phone screen.

"Sit down, darling," she suggested. “Things are going to get very interesting.”

“We are not teenagers, for God's sake!” Marsali sounded slightly annoyed.

"I'm not  _ mad _ ," said Brianna, sounding very angry. “I just want to know why you kept it a secret.”

"Bree found out that Marsali is having sex with Fergus," Lizzie told him.

“Marsali is having sex with Fergus?”

“And can you blame her?”

Definitely not.

"I didn't  _ hide  _ anything," the bedroom door was open and John could clearly hear the tone that Marsali was using. He frowned, surprised that someone had the courage to talk to Brianna that way. “Regardless of being friends, I have the right to privacy and not to share all the details of my sex life.”

Brianna laughed, without a trace of humor in the act.

“Are you listening to yourself?,” she asked. “This is not one of your little affairs with the idiots you met at clubs, Marsali. It's my brother! I know more details about your sex life than your gynecologist, so don't give me that little chat that you have a right to keep it a secret. You didn't tell me about Fergus because you knew that…  _ this  _ is a stupid idea!”

Willie started to bark, irritated by the altered voices disturbing his nap. Denny grabbed that cue like a lifeboat and slid out of the bathroom, walking towards the drawer where they kept the dog's things. Quick as a bullet, he grabbed Willie's collar and leash and led him outside, mumbling something about taking him for a walk while the demon hairball grunted and tried to bite his ankle.

“Sorry, I just woke up. What the hell do you mean by 'that'?” If sarcasm had a specific sound, that sound would be Marsali's voice. “We're fucking, Brianna. No need to worry, I have no plans to be your sister-in-law.”

“Shouldn't we do something?,” he asked quietly.

"No," said Lizzie. “Bree is moody when she wakes up and so is Mars. Add a bit of hangover, secrets and a hot man and you have the right recipe for the start of the  _ Ragnarök _ .”

“You saved his contact with a  _ heart  _ emoji, Marsali,” the voice of the two seemed to be closer to the door, causing John to straighten up and look theatrically out the window as if all of his attention wasn't focused on the Third World War that had started in his flat. The two girls' voices, cold and irritated, seemed to sound like the trumpets of the Apocalypse. “I'm not an idiot.”

“This is not about you!” Marsali went through the door, stopping in the small hall and turning on her heels to continue her argument. She had no shoes on and her blond hair looked like a mess. “And since we're talking about it: I know it can be a shock, but not everything needs to be about you. I didn't tell you because Fergus said you would be pissed if you knew. I discouraged him every time he tried to flirt with me and he agreed that we shouldn't do anything without talking to you first, but we  _ really  _ wanted to... anyway, it happened. I never wanted to do things behind your back, but I finally realized how childish you were being.”

“ _ Me _ ?  _ I  _ am being childish? You’re the one who is having sex in secret like a teenager.”

“Well, some of us have to get laid, right?”

From where he was, pretending to pay attention to anything other than the argument, John couldn't see Brianna's expression, but he figured the view must be scary.

"You like him," shot Marsali. “That's what this discussion is about, right?”

Brianna's tall, furious figure appeared under the doorframe. John had seen her furious on one or two occasions, but he was always surprised at how shiny she looked when she was covered in hatred.

“Gross! He is my brother!”

Her brown eyes widened and both girls turned to Lizzie, who looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Lizzie …”

“Hey, I don't…”

“Everything is fine,” the young girl interrupted her friends, making a gesture with her hand as if she dismissed the matter.

Marsali turned to Brianna again.

“And so? Is that it? You like Fergus?”

“Are you aware of how ridiculous you're sounding right now?”

“You aren’t blood related…”

"He's my  _ brother _ ," said Brianna, her voice as hard as steel. “I didn't want you guys to get together because of you. If you haven't noticed, you have bad taste for men and, as anyone who stays in the same room as you for five minutes can tell, you tend to hate all your ex-boyfriends. I didn't want things to get weird between  _ us _ ,” she crossed her arms, glaring at the blonde. “Maybe if you weren't so good at getting into shitty relationships …”

“Who do you think you are to give me moral lessons about relationships?’ Marsali was not very tall, at least not as much as Brianna, but her anger seemed to have made her grow several inches. “You know what? Fuck this. I won’t stay here listening to this stupid speech.”

She looked around, seeming to notice John's presence for the first time. She mumbled "Good morning" and "sorry for the inconvenience" and scanned the apartment with a look for the door. As soon as she found it, she headed for the exit with her shoes, jacket, bag and cell phone in hand.

Before leaving, however, she turned to Brianna once again.

“Before giving me a lecture about my ‘shitty relationships’,” she tried to quote with her busy hands, “remember that you stayed with a guy you couldn't stand just to please your mother. Which one of us is more immature, huh?”

And just like that, Marsali slammed the door hard before disappearing like a blond hurricane, leaving a huge trail of destruction behind. Lizzie shot Brianna a meaningful look, who nodded slightly before her friend got up and disappeared to go after the blonde.

…

Maybe John was as crazy as Brianna, because when she said she was leaving to "rub Fergus's face on the hot asphalt", he held her hand, feeling every cell in his body beg for contact with hers. She was furious, of course, as her angry expression showed; her brown eyes looked darker, her shoulders tense and her makeup a bit smeared made her look similar to one of those aesthetic versions of war goddesses that seemed to pop up on and off in his Pinterest home page.

"Stay," he asked, massaging her palm with his thumb. “I mean, it's not a good idea to talk to your brother now, right?”

“Why not?,” she asked, seeming to oscillate between slightly less irritated and completely upset. “This is all his fault.”

“You saw how well the conversation with Marsali went on,” if looks were capable of killing, he would have fallen dead on the ground right there, but he did not let Brianna's murderous expression intimidate him. “Trying to solve things with a hot head will not solve anything at all, quite the contrary. Stay, I'll make your breakfast. If, after your belly is full you still want to strangle Fergus, I'll help you.”

Through the thick lenses of his glasses, he saw her frowning countenance collapse a little.

“Would you help me kill your employer?,” she asked, letting him guide her back to the couch.

"He's  _ one  _ of my employers," he reminded her, smiling. “I have three other jobs and I'm not even counting the gallery.”

"My family has you in the palm of their hand," Brianna observed.

"It must be some pheromone of yours," agreed John.

He left her there and went to the kitchen, looking for something in the fridge that was not leftover Chinese food and pizza to make a minimally decent breakfast.

“Where did Lizzie go?” he asked, breaking two eggs on the edge of the frying pan.

“We would be terrible friends if we left Marsali alone and furious.”

He raised his eyebrow, concentrating on pouring some salt over the eggs.

“So you decided to be alone and furious.”

"I'm furious," she agreed. “But I'm not alone.”

John let that answer hang between them and remained focused on not burning the eggs and frying the slices of bacon. He was sure there was a box of orange juice in the bottom of the refrigerator, but he also knew that there was a high chance that the beverage would have expired after being open for so many days. Instead, he filled another mug with more coffee and spread some jam on two slices of bread, placing them next to the heap of scrambled eggs and bacon.

"You know," he began, placing the mug on the floor beside her and holding the plate out to her. “We need to talk.”

Brianna frowned.

“You proposed to me…”

“And you accepted.”

"I didn't," he muttered, taking a seat in the armchair farthest from her. God only knew the power that woman had over him, and for the sake of both of them, someone there had to think clearly.

"I remember you proposing a real marriage," she said, taking a bite of bread and jam. The corner of her mouth went slightly dirty and he fought the overwhelming urge to get up and run his thumb over her lips.

“I said that we should let things happen naturally, as you suggested before you freaked out.”

“You’re hot, then you’re cold. You’re yes, then you’re no. You’re in, then you’re out,” that aura of irritation seemed to slowly return to her face.

"First of all, don't use Katy Perry against me," he scolded her, quite seriously. “Second, you are insane.”

“I'm trying to save your ass, idiot!”

"I don't need you to save me, Bree," he insisted, propping himself up on his elbows and sinking his hands over his face. “I'm not going to marry you just to get a green card.”

“Why are you making this storm in a teacup?” She asked, huffing with indignation.

"However, I know you well enough to know that you are as stubborn as a mule and that you won’t forget this crazy idea," he continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted. “I’ll marry you.”

“What's the catch? Only if we really love each other?”

He nodded.

“I don't give a shit about my expired visa. People have been in this country illegally for decades, some even their entire lives,” he ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. “I'm not going to marry someone I don't love. You may be willing to sacrifice that, but I am not.”

"I'm not," she whispered after a long moment of silence. “Willing, I mean. My mother's first marriage was for convenience, the second for love. I thought I was willing to sacrifice love for her happiness and... well, and for Roger. But I'm not. What the hell, you're right.”

He sighed with relief.

“Thank God. I really started to believe that you were mad.”

"Maybe that's your type," she replied, arching an eyebrow. “It doesn't change the fact that you need a green card and the best way to get it is marrying me. We can ask for annulment as soon as possible and start from scratch.”

Talking to Brianna Fraser was like talking to a door.

"I'm almost tempted to accept this absurd proposal," he said, holding her gaze so hard that she took a deep breath. “That would certainly please your aunt, make your mother furious and teach you how to play with fire, I do assure you.”

"Sounds like a threat," she challenged him.

John pondered for what seemed like an eternity, and finally, when he decided, he sighed.

"I will marry you, Brianna Fraser," he said. “But not until I love you. You said it would be very hard for me not to fall in love with you, right? I give you three months. Find a loft for Fergus. In a week we’ll start our married life, as if it were a trial,” he explained, almost laughing at how ridiculous it all sounded. “I’ll move to your apartment and we'll start doing all the couple stuff you have never done with Roger. If I don't fall in love with you by the end of January, you forget this ridiculous idea and we continue to do what we're doing, no rush. Or maybe we’ll find out that we hate each other and that it would never work. I call this a Grey Marathon."

“What if you fall in love?”

He shrugged.

“Then my only obstacle will no longer exist and we will live happily ever after.”

"That's not fair," she complained, placing her forgotten breakfast on the couch. “You'll do everything to not fall in love with me.”

He rolled his eyes.

“This is, without a doubt, one of the dumbest conversations I've ever had in my life.”

“I meant it.”

John snorted.

"Your list, then," he suggested. “Let's make another one. With items that we both think are important. A hundred things to do before we die. We'll try to complete it together and if by the end of the three months of trial I'm not on my knees begging for your love…”

"I’ll give up on my stupid idea," she added, making a terrible imitation of his voice. “Deal.”

She held out her hand, as if she wanted to make that bizarre contract official, and John pulled her from the couch into his arms, sealing the deal in the best way: with a kiss.

…

The idea of remaking the list had seemed great at the time he said it, but it proved to be a big headache after a few minutes. To begin with, it’s very difficult to find two things to do during the weekend, just imagine finding a hundred things to do before you die. There were many things he hadn't done yet that he would love to try, but none of those things seemed memorable enough to make it to the list.

Tired of waiting, Brianna took a black pen and scribbled the top of the lined sheet, writing her name there.

**Brianna Fraser's 100 things-to-do list:**

“Brianna Fraser?” John grunted, bending over her with a red pen in his hand. With a quick movement, he crossed out her surname and added ‘+ John’ instead. “Now we’re talking.”

Sitting in the armchair, with the notebook on her lap and her back to him, John couldn't see the young woman's expression, but he was sure she had rolled her eyes.

Brianna grabbed the edge of the page, as if she were about to tear it off when he stopped her.

“Hey hey hey! What are you doing?”

She looked over her shoulder, her face very close to his.

"I'm going to rewrite the title," she snapped. “Or do you have any special conditions for me to do that too?”

“It's good that way.”

“Not at all aesthetically pleasing, you mean.”

"Art is rarely pleasant," he replied simply, placing his hand on her shoulders. “Go on.”

It was true. Nobody cares about "nice". People only cared about memorable things. Whether that meant anything dazzling or disturbing, John couldn't say.

Brianna slid her pen across the paper, adding the items she remembered from her original list. Occasionally, she would stare at the notebook, as if considering whether it was worth humiliating herself and putting the item that came into her memory there. In many of them, John intervened.

“God have mercy,” he muttered when she wrote ‘sleep under the starry sky’. “We live in New York, woman.”

“Do you have a better idea?” she asked harshly.

John pulled the notebook out of her hands and walked around the chair, sitting on Brianna's lap as she let out a muffled "Uff", hesitating for a few seconds before wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him from behind.

“How about: buy a car?”

She made a disapproving noise.

“Do you realize how expensive it is to maintain a car?” she asked. “Besides, as you have mentioned, we live in New York. We would cross the city much faster and with less expense using the subway.”

"Good point," John agreed. “Wait, did you put ‘get an apartment’? You  _ have  _ an apartment.”

"The building belongs to Auntie Jo," Brianna explained, resting her face on his back. “She lets me live there and redecorate as I please, but that apartment is not mine. I want something that is totally and solely the result of my work”.

"Rich people and the habit of wanting to complicate something easy," he murmured, tapping the notebook with his pen. “Shit, I thought this would be simpler.”

"It's easier when you're a teenager and you still haven't given up on the idea that you'll be able to be happy one day," she commented, making him laugh.

“What do you think of ‘welcoming friends at home’?” he suggested hopefully. “In your own home. Matches your other item.”

“How boring.”

“Do you have a better idea?,” he countered, with a crooked smile that she couldn't see.

"Funny," she muttered. “I want something wild. An adventure.”

"Nude beach," murmured John, pretending to write.

"Oh, sure," she snarled, pushing him off her lap.

He got up and slid onto the couch. Bree did the same, sitting on folded legs and staring at the sheet of paper with the same intensity as he did.

"We should sing together," he said. “I work in a karaoke and I have never sung in one.”

“I don’t sing.”

“Me neither.”

John wrote "have a romantic duet".

“I hope your inner teenager is feeling contemplated, Fraser.”

She pretended to punch him.

"Denny must be coming home," Brianna murmured, looking at her cell phone screen for the thousandth time as she waited for a message from Marsali, Lizzie or Fergus.

“Great, maybe he has some idea for this fiasco.”

"I should go," she continued, looking uncertain.

John didn't want her to leave.

"Yes," he agreed. “You look like you left a bar and spent the night away from home.”

“Ha, ha. I really need a shower.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I have a great shower and I can still help you, you know?”

"Tempting," she admitted, biting her bottom lip seductively. Her hand landed casually on his thigh, too high to indicate anything else that was not extremely inappropriate. John swallowed and, as if by magic, Brianna pulled away, standing up and smiling sarcastically. “Maybe _you_ need to learn how to play with fire, Grey.”

…

The next day John arrived at the gallery early. He had arranged for Dottie to meet him there at nine in the morning, but if he remained under the same roof as Denzell Hunter he would end up committing a hate crime.

Denny had heard Brianna's crazy idea before the fight with Marsali, of course. The walls didn't need to have ears, they just needed to be ridiculously thin. The man and the Antichrist on a leash returned home a few minutes after Brianna left and John realized right away that his friend was in a bad mood.

“Quite a mess, right?,” John asked casually.

Denny shot him a deadly look.

“You know what she suggested is a  _ crime _ , right?,” he asked, not bothering to worry about turning around.

“Denny…”

"No," said Denzell. “John, for God's sake, tell your family! They can help you. I spent three years giving you ways to solve this and you ignored them all, then a girl that you barely know appears and suggests marriage as a solution to your problem and you just think this is the best solution? Your cousin is here, she can help you find the best way to talk to your parents.”

“Dottie may be eloquent, but she was never good at talking to our family.”

"John, she said someone emailed her about the exhibition." He put his hand on his head, scratching it greedily. “I may be paranoid and maybe I'm exaggerating, but have you ever stopped to think that this may not have been a coincidence? There are hundreds of John Greys around the world. Do you really think that this fan happened to run into the material that shouldn't have existed and associated your name with hers?”

_ We don't know if the person who emailed Dottie was really a curious fan or someone who secretly hates you, knows your secret and wants to expose you to your family _ , Brianna had said.

"Denny, I love you," John said, his jaw tight. Every fiber in his body seemed to vibrate with nervousness. He felt his stomach sink with that possibility, but he wouldn't let fear guide his actions. Not again. “But let  _ me  _ take care of my life, will you?”

They spent the rest of the day not talking, and in that morning John left early to discount all his frustrations in his art. Josh and the other guys who ran the gallery let him in and he crossed the corridors directly to the circular room. He still had no idea what he intended to do for the exhibition that Jocasta Cameron planned in honor of her mysterious artist, William Armstrong, but he knew he wanted it to be something grand and memorable.

He looked at the time on his phone, clicking on the button at the bottom of the screen with his knuckles so as not to get the device dirty with paint.

It was almost nine o'clock, but that was not what caught his attention. The notification was nothing special, but he frowned at the e-mail address, making a disgusted face. He obviously never received e-mails other than sales ads or confirmation of online shopping  — something that didn't happen so often since he was kind of broke. Curious, he unlocked the screen and hunted down the app that was in a folder whose name had been summed up in a poop emoji.

The email had been sent by someone called  _ levoyeur1110@gmail.com. _

**Dottie is amazing! I fell in love with her work. It will be horrible for her to see you deported. We can do it the easy way or the hard way, Johnny. Your time is running out.**

**Le Voyeur.**

John didn't need to be fluent in French to know what that word meant. He felt a chill go up his spine and looked around, feeling the suffocating sensation of being watched. Leaving the sexual and disturbing aspect aside, voyeur meant "the one who sees".

Brianna was right, he thought. Hell, Denny was right.

Someone had discovered his secret. Someone didn't want him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the list is here!! (Also a huge fight and a mysterious e-mail, but the list!!)  
> Sorry guys, we just think that there's something really special about the moment when the fic name is mentioned in the story hehe. Let us know your theories: who might be the person threatening to expose John to his family? Also, who else is dying to have Bree and Marsali's reconciliation? Not gonna lie, that moment was tough.   
> Thank you all for being here every week, leaving some love and comments for us! Please know how much you readers are appreciated and we're so happy to share this little chaotic, unusual and unnecessarily dramatic love story with you. ♥


	18. 17. HELPLESS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We know that bad stuff happen in real life every day, but putting it in fictional works just for shock value is pure BS. That being said, we want to let you readers know that we aren't that kind of jerk authors, and what happens here won't be for nothing. Also: your well being is more important to us than any plot, so if the final scenes of this chapter make you feel umconfortable, feel free to skip them. Discretion is advised. Take care of yourselves. ♡  
> Trigger warning: sexual harrassment.

**BRIANNA**

There were still a few months to go until the end of the year, but Bree was pretty sure she could name that week as the worst of all yet.

For someone who came to almost bragging about never having suffered for love, Brianna forgot that friends could also break her heart. To be honest, she thought it would be John who did that – after all, who did she want to deceive? She had used all the pretentious cells in her body in a sudden burst of self-confidence when saying _ good luck trying not to fall in love with me _ , but she feared that in the end it was her who was going to end up getting hurt and her words would come back to haunt her. The truth was, it wouldn't be hard to fall in love with John Grey: he had said that she was the most interesting person he knew and Bree wondered if he was aware that the feeling was mutual. Not only was she physically attracted to him and she knew that he felt the same – but they both saw each other on an intellectual level, and at least that was new to her. In addition, Brianna had already fallen in love with his  _ art  _ before she even knew his name. Well, if one day her negative predictions happened and John broke her heart, at least Marsali had saved him the trouble of being the first to do that.

Since they had known each other, that had been the maximum amount of time the two girls had spent without speaking. Brianna thought it would be much more difficult to avoid her at work than it really was: it looked like Marsali had gotten Harry Potter's invisibility cloak. She wanted to feel relieved that they didn't have to cross each other’s paths with awkward glances and silence, but she felt even worse when she noticed Marsali's effort to avoid her. The two of them were terribly proud and Brianna considered being the mature person in the situation, asking her to talk and apologize, but she couldn't. All of Marsali's words seemed to echo in her mind, as loud and clear as they had in that damn morning, and Brianna felt the humiliation and anger she had felt in that conversation like a punch in her stomach. There was a limit to what she could take the blame for, and that was  _ definitely  _ not the case.

Of course, Marsali was not the only one to blame. When she got home after leaving John's apartment, Brianna started the fight with Fergus before he even had a chance to open his mouth to ask where she had spent the night. Okay, it wasn't exactly a fight: it was just a furious Brianna shouting that he was a liar who didn't keep his promises and couldn't keep his dick inside his pants. Fergus did not usually fight – at least not in the same way as she did, raising her voice and looking out of control – and in that moment he showed whose side he was on that mess. Marsali’s, of course. Because apparently that was the only possible answer between siding with his own sister and the girl he had been seeing for a few weeks.

He darted towards the door and said he would come back later to get his things. Yes,  _ that  _ was how the bastard told her that he had found another place to live.

Brianna thought she could at least use her work as a distraction from the agonizing sadness she was feeling, but apparently the universe didn't want to give her a break. The company had partnered with one of the new IT industries on the rise on the East Coast for a sustainable energy generation project. Technically the client was Cooper's, and Bree felt confident – she had created an electronic system with a solar-powered battery as her final college project and that was one of the points on her resumé. In addition to her prominence in the office, she had the knowledge and experience to carry out that project. Cooper liked her  _ and  _ her work. However, she could imagine that Clarkson would influence his partner to let his protégé assume the project as the technical manager.

Most days Brianna didn't even remember that Elijah existed – even though he saw her as an opponent who needed to be humiliated and defeated daily, she thought of him as a fly buzzing in her ear: annoying, yet harmless and too small to cause her a headache. When Cooper announced that Brianna would be the project’s technical manager, Elijah’s face went red as a pepper and she needed all of her professionalism and self-control to keep from laughing when she imagined him bursting with rage. She barely had time to delude herself and think that achievement was a small victory in the midst of the chaos. Brianna's first hours of work went downhill when she came back from her lunch break and saw that someone had invaded her computer system and deleted all the calculations and sketches she had made that morning.

It didn't take long for her to redo what she had lost, but she couldn't help but cry in anger after making sure that her office door was locked and that no one could see her. She never thought he could be so low, even by Elijah Reed's standards. She never thought her life would be a mess in  _ every  _ way.

The cherry on top was John. Something had happened – something he was hiding from her – after the weekend when she officially proposed to him. He no longer seemed to be the same guy who had made a new list of things to do with her, the guy who said that Bree had three months to make him fall in love with her and that had said that in a week they would move in together and start the marriage trial, an idea that didn't seem  _ so  _ absurd compared to everything she had proposed to him earlier. John did move into her apartment, occupying the guest room with his few belongings, but Brianna had the feeling that a usurper had replaced the man she knew. He didn't treat her badly and the two talked, but she missed the sarcastic John, the witty man with an acid sense of humor that made her want to laugh, roll her eyes and kiss him, in that order. In his place was this stranger who seemed cold, reserved and suspicious. Brianna didn't know why, but her intuition said that she had done something wrong.

Usually, but not always, she had no problem with apologizing for her mistakes. However, how could she apologize when she just didn't know what had happened?

Bree didn't know what was worse: the fact that John was acting so weird and distant or the fact that he had spent a whole week without kissing her, not even once. It was ridiculous, she knew, but she touched her lips and slid her fingertips from her neck to her chest, missing his mouth and his touch on her skin. She was completely pathetic.

For a change, she was a little lucky to find the company's laboratory almost empty that morning. Although she was busy and focused on the simulation of the prototype she was developing on the mechanical testing machine, Brianna could hear the sound of footsteps coming towards her. By God, she swore for everything that was sacred that if Elijah had come there to sabotage her...

"Not now," she snarled, not knowing at whom.

"I brought donuts," Marsali said.

Brianna turned on the stool to face her friend. Marsali was dressed as she was, in the guidelines for entering the laboratory: lab coat, asbestos gloves, safety goggles and with her hair in a tight bun. And she hadn't lied: she was holding a Dunkin' Donuts brown bag.

"You can't bring food to the lab," Brianna said, naturally.

"Technically, you can't  _ eat  _ in the lab," Marsali replied, pragmatically. Bree couldn't help but smile softly. “It's a peace offering.”

The two of them stared at each other in silence for a moment. Brianna thought that maybe it was her turn to say something, since Mars had taken the initiative of approaching her and even brought something to please her, but before she could think of what to say, Marsali continued:

“Bree... I can't put into words how sorry I am for the things I said to you. That's why I didn't look for you all these days, I was too embarrassed to even apologize. But please, believe me, I'm being truthful. I'm sorry for losing my mind and for all the horrible shit... especially what I said about you liking him,” Marsali blushed to the roots of her blond hair, “My God, that sounds so ridiculous now that I don't even know how I had the courage to say it out loud.”

“Well,  _ that  _ part I really don't know how you managed to say,” Brianna countered, defensively, but then her posture relaxed a little. “Mars, I also want to apologize. I'm really sorry if I ever made you think that I wanted to make everything be about me,” she said, and Marsali opened her mouth to contest, but Brianna raised her hand to stop her, “I'm serious. I think I was really selfish for not wanting you and Fergus to be together when I should have been happy for two of my favorite people in the world. I was just afraid that eventually something bad would happen and I would have to choose a side and…,” she shrugged, feeling helpless. “I really didn't want to lose either of you, but it was wrong of me to presume the worst. I'm sorry for all the shit I said about you too.”

Marsali took off a glove, which could have been considered a violation of the laboratory rules, but Brianna said nothing when her friend held her hand tightly and squeezed it.

“I understand why you did it. Honestly, I don't expect things to get out of hand and reach a level that I need to choose, but I'm sure of one thing: Bree,  _ you're  _ my favorite Fraser. You are like a sister to me.” Marsali said, and Brianna felt her eyes water. “And Fergus …’

"Spare me of the details, please," Bree asked, and Marsali laughed.

“I think I was defensive because maybe... maybe…,” she straightened her spine and Brianna saw the movement in her throat that indicated she had swallowed. “A small part of me thinks I might have more feelings for him than I thought.”

“Ah, there is!” Bree exclaimed, as if she said  _ eureka _ ! So they weren't just fucking, as Marsali had said in the fight.

"I hope you don't tell him that I just said that." Marsali rolled her eyes, with an embarrassed smile.

"Your secret is safe with me," Brianna promised and got up from the stool at the same time that Marsali held out her arms toward her. They hugged and, in those seconds that they held each other, Bree felt that the world was returning to a good place again. At least in part. “By the way, tell him to talk to me again, will you?,” she asked.

Mars laughed and sniffed – Bree hadn't realized until then that she had let out some discreet tears. Seeing Marsali MacKimmie cry was a historic event and few people survived to tell the fact.

“Don't worry about it, and for what it’s worth, he's feeling as guilty as I am. Can we make it up to you with dinner tonight, the three of us? Or would it be too weird?”

She considered for a moment what it would be like to be the third wheel for one of her best friends and her older brother. From the perspective that from now on she would support them, it didn't seem so bad.

“I would love to, but I can't tonight. I convinced John to watch Hamilton with me as an early birthday gift for myself,” she said, well aware of the sly look that Marsali gave her in response. “Speaking of which, why don't you and Fergus come to the party? I'm sure Lizzie already talked to you about the three of us dressed as the Schuyler sisters, didn't she? It's been her dream since she joined the theater group.”

Marsali laughed, shaking her head to agree.

“You know I don't miss an opportunity to dress up on Halloween. I'm going to talk to Fergus, but even if he doesn't want to go, if I find an eighteenth-century dress in time, I’ll definitely be there with you,” she said, and Brianna smiled, feeling genuinely happy. “By the way, I need to comment…,” Mars continued, “How could I even suggest that you would like anyone else since John Grey entered your life?”

It was Brianna's turn to blush. She rolled her eyes and told her friend that she needed to work, but that she would meet her later for lunch.

…

She couldn't get out of work, dress up at home and be on time to watch the show, so Brianna asked John to meet her in front of the Richard Rodgers theater. Considering how weird he had been in the past few days, she wondered if he would really go or bail on her at the last minute. She had no doubt that she would be devastated if that happened, not because of the money lost from buying the tickets, but because she was  _ so  _ excited to watch the show with him. And he knew that.

John did not cancel. In fact, when she arrived at the theater, he was already there, waiting for her. And when he saw her, his face seemed to light up like the sun coming out after a cloudy morning. She smiled back, feeling her heart racing.

He was back. He had come back to her.

Two and a half hours of a musical show goes by pretty quickly when you're completely entertained and know all the lyrics by heart, but John also seemed to be enjoying himself. At least that's what Brianna thought when she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, eager to see his reaction in specific scenes. Whether he was loving it or just finding it interesting, she didn't know  – but he didn't seem to be hating it, which was enough.

"Okay, I have to admit," he said after they left the theater, walking towards Times Square. He had an arm around Bree's shoulders and her arm was around his waist. “Now I understand the hype. It was really good.”

Brianna smiled with pride.

“I'm so glad you lost your Broadway virginity to me.”

John let out a loud laugh.

“You just made the situation sound very disturbing. I feel dirty.”

“Don't,” she clicked her tongue, “I just meant that, from now on, no matter how many shows you watch, you’ll always remember that your first time was with me.”

“Great chances that there won’t be many more times.”

“You're annoying. I'm going to invite Dottie next time,” she countered, and smiled at the funny face John made, probably imagining that Brianna and Dottie were not a reliable duo.

Before they continued walking to the city's brightest subway station to catch the train home, Bree grabbed John by the arm, stopping him from walking as she watched the block, dazzled. Certainly Times Square was on the top of the list of places most hated by native New Yorkers, and they were right in every reason not to like the city's postcard: the place was always crowded with tourists, it was terribly loud  – a mixture of the cacophony of the city with the horns of cars passing by the Seventh Avenue and voices in dozens of different languages  – in addition to being probably one of the most expensive places in Manhattan. However, Brianna was not ashamed or felt guilty about going to touristy places when she had some spare time, and there was something about the light show on those big screens that made her feel even more at home in that chaotic metropolis.

“What do you think?,” she asked John after minutes that she had been distracted in silence, and turned to him.

John held her by the waist, bringing her closer to him, and she placed her hands on his shoulders, covered by his black leather jacket.

"Beautiful," he said, without taking his eyes off Brianna's face to look at the LED screens behind her for even a second.

She felt like she had turned to melted butter inside and her cheeks heated up. Brianna hid her face in John's neck  – the night was cold, but not enough that he needed a scarf. She took a deep breath, absorbing the scent of his perfume as if it were a drug, and kissed him there. When she realized he was shivering, she doubted it was because of the cold wind that was blowing against them.

"Sleep with me tonight," she asked, putting her lips to his ear.

John made a sound that made her think he had choked on his own saliva.

“Are you short and sweet like that? You’re not even going to take me out to dinner first? I’m a romantic, you know.”

Brianna rolled her eyes, even though he couldn't see her face at that moment.

“I said sleep and nothing else, you pervert,” she slid the tip of her nose through his, which she had found to be a good persuasion technique. “My bed is much more comfortable than the one in the guest room, I promise.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking partly tempted to accept the request and partly wanting to laugh at her face.

“Please?,” she insisted for the last time, pouting. John didn't answer, but she knew from his expression that it was a yes.

It took almost half an hour for them to arrive at the 86th Street station and before they reached the exit, Brianna could feel the smell and hear the noise of the rain. Storms were common at that time of fall, but she had not brought an umbrella in her bag.

"Shit," Bree said, wrinkling her nose at the wet and muddy staircase of the station. "The rain is heavy, let's wait."

“What do you mean? You live just a few meters from here!”

She frowned.

“It must be 50 degrees outside **!** Do you really want to go out in the rain? We can have a cold... or even pneumonia!”

John shook his head.

“You’re so dramatic. Come on,” he intertwined his fingers with hers, holding her tightly by the hand. “This storm won’t pass any time soon, who knows how long we’ll be stuck here?”

Brianna groaned, but gave up. It was not easy to climb the steps quickly without risking a fall and getting hurt, so she just screamed when they were no longer in the covered area of the station. She felt water entering her mouth  – the storm was accompanied by a gale  – and shivered. Both she and John were soaked in a matter of seconds.

Her shoes were not the most comfortable model to run in the rain, but she just wanted to get home. Something, however, seemed to make John stop walking suddenly, and she would not be able to make him move against her will.

“What are you doing?,” she shouted over the sound of the rain.

The street was dark, poorly lit by a few lampposts, but she could see John's smirk as he approached her.

“You didn't put it on our list,” he said, “but it was on your old one.”

She was about to ask what the hell he was talking about when John grabbed her face and kissed her.

Brianna felt as if she had lost consciousness. At that moment, the painful cold and the heavy rain seemed to have disappeared. In fact, everything was gone  – the city, the problems, anything but her and John. With her eyes closed, she felt like she was floating.

...

The first thing she did after entering the apartment was to turn on the heater, even though she reserved the use of that equipment for the harshest winter months. The second was to get towels. They left their jackets and shoes in the small laundry room and ate dinner in the kitchen with towels wrapped around their shoulders. John was looking at her like she was dessert and Brianna couldn't stop smiling.

"I'm going to take a hot shower," she said, pushing the empty plate away before getting up.

“Was that an invitation?”

“Ha. No,” she stuck out her tongue. “I’ll go first because I need to wash my hair.”

"Fair enough," he shrugged. "I'm going to do the dishes, since you've done it after breakfast."

"Aww, I can already tell that you're going to be a good husband," Brianna said. John looked at her with a face that probably meant  _ ha, funny _ .

Ironically or not, John seemed to take even longer than she had in the shower. While waiting for him, not sure if he would really go there, she sat on the edge of the bed to apply moisturizing lotion on her legs while wearing pajamas that were not appropriate for the weather outside: a top and shorts made of white, light and transparent fabric, with pink lace edges. When John opened the door she almost felt ashamed, as if she didn't know exactly what she was doing when she chose that pajamas.

“Are you going to sleep in this?,” he asked, looking at her from head to toe with false disdain. “Good luck freezing.”

She rolled her eyes. The apartment's heating system had warmed the room enough that he could take his shirt off if he wanted to. Bree knew that  _ she  _ did.

“Of course not,” she said, getting up to leave the bottle of moisturizer on the dresser. “You’ll keep me warm, won't you?”

John pulled her to kiss her again. Brianna closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck at the same time his hands held her thighs tightly, giving her an impulse to wrap her legs around his waist.  _ Damn _ , she thought, almost saying it out loud. She had missed him  _ so  _ much.

Gently, he made her lie down on the bed without moving his mouth from hers. Bree didn't want him to be gentle. She held him by the collar of his shirt, crossing her ankles behind his back as he positioned himself between her legs. John rested part of his body weight on one of his arms so as not to crush her, but the feeling of having him on top of her was so good it was almost indescribable. Brianna slid her fingers through his wet hair, pulling it lightly on the back of his neck.

“Can I...?” John asked in a whisper, his cold fingertips touching the exposed skin of Brianna's belly.

“Yes,” she replied in the same tone, eager so that he didn't waste time talking when he could kiss her.

John's fingers touched her gently under the thin fabric of her top, but then his hand slid down her curves as if she were a sculpture he was working on. Her nipples were already stiff, but she couldn't contain the sound that escaped her lips when John's fingers held one of them, causing millions of electrical currents to flow throughout her body.

She was so focused on the sensation of having his hands on her body and the feeling of his beard scratching her skin lightly, as if John's presence was intoxicating all her thoughts, that she could barely understand when he spoke:

“I said I would teach you how to play with fire, Fraser.”

Brianna opened her eyes, astonished, and only understood what he meant when John got off her and pulled the covers up, looking ready to fall asleep at that very moment.

"You bastard," she murmured, taking a while to return to her normal state and avoiding looking at his mocking and pleased face as she pulled the covers from him to cover herself.

“Don’t be mad!,” he said laughing, which made her even madder, and pulled her around the waist to hug her against her will. Well, at least she wanted him to think it was against her will, but Bree realized that her ability to fake emotions wasn't exactly the best when she was angry, and she really wanted to spend the night in his arms. "I like your hair like that," John said, kissing the top of her head. Bree's hair was still damp, but already completely back to its natural state in a mane of curls.

The comment was enough to tear down her walls, making her smile a little while they shared the same pillow and intertwined their legs.

Although she wasn't sure what time it was, she knew it was past midnight and they should sleep, because they would get up early the next day to teach at the community center and visit Denny and Willie. Brianna knew that John and Denny were not on good terms  – after all, Denzell had listened to everything and was completely opposed to Bree's idea  – and she felt a little guilty about it, at the same time that she thought she shouldn't try to intervene and possibly screw up things even more. They knew they would have a few hours of sleep, but that didn't stop the two of them from talking. Brianna told him about her day (especially about making up with Marsali) and she felt special when she realized that John was looking at her intently, seeming really interested in what she had to say. He talked about his work at the gallery and she heard it all, fascinated with the fact that he really was there, sounding like himself after an unusual week. They continued talking about other random subjects for the minutes that followed while they touched each other innocently, but not so innocently. They only slept after they stopped talking and kissed again, as if forces greater than themselves prevented them from being away from each other for too long.

...

Drama Queens was a clever analogy, Brianna admitted. The theater group had been founded in the year of  _ she-had-no-idea _ , as the pun on the name indicated, in a studio in Flushing, Queens. Years later, the group's official meeting and rehearsal location had moved to an old Manhattan building, but they maintained the studio in Flushing as a sort of warehouse for their sets and locker room. And the only reason Bree dragged John from Brooklyn to Queens after their classes, on a subway ride that seemed almost endless, was because there was no way she was going to spend money buying a costume for the Halloween party and Lizzie was aware of that.

“I admire your effort,” John said as they walked down the street which, according to the Google Maps link Lizzie had sent her, was where the studio should be. “I mean, do all this to go to a costume party with Lizzie.”

“It will be our third Halloween together. I'd rather tell a kid Santa doesn't exist than tell Lizzie I'm not going to spend her favorite holiday with her.”

John laughed and then frowned.

“Wait, third? I thought you moved here last year.”

“Oh, no,” she replied. “I came here the summer of the year before last. I took some extra subjects in college to graduate earlier because I wanted to move here soon.”

He hissed.

“It seems that every day I discover that you are more of a nerd than I thought and I don’t know if this is a good or bad thing.”

”Do intelligent women intimidate you, Grey?,” she raised her eyebrow.

“No,” he replied. “ _ You _ intimidate me.”

Before she could answer, Lizzie (she was a few feet away, but it was definitely her. Brianna would recognize that hideous rainbow scarf anywhere) waved and ran towards them.

"Why, if it's not my favorite married couple," she said dramatically.

“Not  _ yet,” _ Brianna said through her teeth, awkwardly. “So? Where is it?”

Lizzie pointed to the building before intertwining her arm with Brianna's, leading her and John there.

“Um, how exactly will this work?” John asked, and Brianna had to resist the urge to step on his foot. As if she had read her expression, he opened his eyes wide. “You’re not gonna...  _ steal  _ the costume, are you?”

“Of course not!,” it was Lizzie who answered. “We'll borrow it. There is a big difference.”

John, who was certainly not comfortable with doing many things that were illegal or politically incorrect, seemed to turn a little yellow.

“And the difference would be ...?”

“I'm friends with Ben. I mean, the doorman. It’s something that happens after years in the theater group without having a relevant role or many friends,” she shrugged. “He gave me the key and we will return the dresses the next day.  _ That's  _ how you do it when you borrow things.”

The speech didn't seem to reassure John one hundred percent, but Brianna trusted Lizzie's ability to get everything she wanted. It was, in fact, one of the things she admired most about her friend.

"So, you know I'm going to be Angelica," Lizzie told Bree after unlocking the studio's front door. They entered the place, which looked a little scary, empty and silent like that, even though it didn't have the usual Halloween decorations that were scattered around the city. “Mars told me that she and Fergus are going, so I thought of him as Hamilton, of course . He already has the hair for that. It would be super weird for you to go dressed as your brother's wife, so…”

"Mars is going to be Eliza and I'm going to be Peggy," Brianna concluded, laughing. "Perfect," she said. She had been elected the least memorable of the Schuyler sisters and hoped that meant she wouldn't have to stay too long at the party.

Lizzie was in the middle of the costume racks as if she knew exactly where to look for what she wanted, and between her search for dresses, she looked up at John, looking serious.

“Did you know that Peggy Schuyler got married?,” she asked, unpretentiously, and John and Brianna looked at each other, knowing exactly where she wanted to get with that conversation “Some Stephan I-don't-know-what.”

John made a strange sound as if he were feeling sick.

“What is it?” Brianna asked.

"An ex," he replied, simply. She laughed.

“My God, don't you have  _ any  _ good exes?”

"Says you,” Lizzie interjected, and John shot her a look of gratitude. “Anyways, John, you should go to the party! Bree, tell him he should go to the party.”

"You should go to the party," Brianna repeated, obediently. _ In joy and in sorrow, _ she thought.  _ And that includes dressing up for Halloween. _

“I'm sure we can find clothes that fit you around here. And a wig, of course.”

“Why do I have to wear a wig?,” John asked indignantly.

“Because,” Lizzie replied while handing a golden dress to Bree, that should represent Peggy's yellow dress in the musical, “all the men there will be wearing it, unless they already have long hair, like Fergus'. It’s called  _ accuracy _ .” Then she smiled broadly, looking like she just had a great idea. “You should invite your friend, Denny!”

John crossed his arms and sighed.

“We're not exactly talking now.”

“Well, Fergus and I are officially going to make up at the party,” Bree shrugged. “Maybe it's a good idea for you both to do the same.” Then it was her turn to have a brilliant idea. “You know what? Dottie will  _ definitely  _ love the invitation. She told me that she watched Hamilton in West End. If she invites Denny, he'll accept.”

He looked at her, confused.

“How do you know about what’s going on between Dottie and Denny?”

“I’ve been talking to her, and more than once she mentioned him. If my instincts are right and he is not an idiot, he’s certainly into her too,” she was about to take her cell phone out of her pocket with her free hand that wasn’t holding the dress when she stopped, looking up at him. “Wait, I’ll only call her if you go to the party. Will you?,” she asked, batting her lashes innocently. His expression was still irreducible. “Please, John?,” she added. Apparently, those two words coming out of her mouth had a different effect on him.

John snorted.

“Is there anything you ask with a smile that I don't do crying?”

“John!” Lizzie announced from somewhere in the midst of the costumes. “I found the  _ perfect  _ outfit for you.”

…

That was her third consecutive year and Brianna was still impressed by the Drama Queens parties. In the year that she met Lizzie, the party  – Beetlejuice themed  – had been in a nightclub in Greenwich Village, completely redecorated on the theme of the musical, which more than matched the date. Last year, the musical theme had been Chicago, but this time in an abandoned warehouse in Bushwick, Brooklyn, which added an even more macabre atmosphere to the party. Bree was seriously concerned that the theater group would decide to recreate Hamilton's scene in an abandoned subway station or something like that, because she really wasn't in the mood for being robbed or attacked by rats. When Lizzie said it would be at the same nightclub as the first party they went to, she sighed with relief.

Even if it wasn’t Halloween, New York was probably the only city in the world where you could walk the streets as if you had just magically traveled through time and no one could care less  – for those who saw people dressed up as Batman or Iron Man all year and Grinchs and Santas during Christmastime, two girls in 18th century ball gowns getting out of a taxi wasn’t a big deal.

The dress that Lizzie had “borrowed” for Brianna was not exactly yellow like Peggy's, but in an opaque shade of gold with some flowers in almost the same color embroidered on the fabric. She was not in a very good mood having to wear the corset and skirt frame to add volume to the dress and had no  _ idea  _ how Lizzie planned, in her own words, to "twerk on the dance floor all night" since her dress was almost like Brianna's, only pink, and Bree barely knew how she would be able to breathe normally at night, let alone dance.

She had left her natural curly hair in a ponytail and decided to wear earrings that Mama had given her, but that she almost never wore, to match. She also took the opportunity to use Grandma Ellen's pearls  – a gift Da had given Mama on their wedding night, and which Claire had given Brianna when she decided to move to New York  – as a bracelet, since she thought more of that necklace as an amulet than an accessory, because it was too fancy (and old-fashioned) to match anything she wore on a daily basis.

Lizzie was always beautiful, but she looked like someone else after deciding to wear a wig to take on her inner Angelica Schuyler. Unlike her own chin-length hair, her wig was brown and curly, reaching up to half of her back. Brianna had seen pictures of Marsali and Fergus while they were getting ready, but John had refused to give her a preview of how he would look.

Bree was also still surprised that Lizzie had managed to get them all on the guest list  – she didn't even want to know what she had done in return to get those privileges since, as she said, it wasn't like Lizzie was one of the most important actresses in the theater group. However, if they didn't recognize her talent, at least they recognized her exploits. Or she just managed to make whatever she wanted to happen.

The two girls walked in together, but Brianna knew it would only be a matter of time before Lizzie got rid of her to throw herself on the dance floor, which was why she desperately wanted her friends to arrive soon. The club had been redecorated to the same design using wood, ropes and bricks from Hamilton's stage, but the colorful stage lights were the same as could be found inside any other club. It was funny to see the mixture of the 18th and 21st centuries: everyone, of course, was dressed up as the theme asked, and anyone who tried to enter without the appropriate costume was stopped at the door. Theater actors took costumes very seriously, even if their community was not the only one present inside. Like Brianna, there were several outsiders-slash-intruders. Some as irrelevant as she was, while the rest ranged from aspiring celebrities to digital influencers.

“I'll get us drinks. On me,” Lizzie warned, leaving Brianna alone in the corner. Wow, she had been abandoned faster than she had thought. Seeing Lizzie meeting and hugging her theater friends, Bree couldn't help feeling a little jealous, but tried to ignore her childish feelings for her friend's happiness. After all, she was there to see  _ Lizzie  _ happy, the night was hers.

She pulled her phone out of her breasts  – after all, it wasn't like a period dress had pockets  – and the first person she thought of to call was John. He picked up in the same second.

“Are you already bored without me there?,” he asked, but Brianna was barely able to hear. The music inside the club was loud, and it sounded like the quality of the call was awful.

“Where are you?,” she asked grumpily, placing her index finger in her other ear as if that would help her to hear better.

"Passing by a tunnel," he replied, and just from the way he spoke she knew he was smiling. Ugh, damn him.

“Lizzie has already abandoned me and I would like company.”

“How many lies, I can only hear that you miss me.”

She was in no mood to argue.

“Do you think it will take long?,” she asked, hoping she didn't sound as humiliated as she felt.

“Look behind you, redhead.”

The moment she turned and saw John in the middle of several people dressed  –  more or less  –  like him, Brianna was impressed by the way he still stood out among all the others. She was even more impressed to realize that she had not given due attention to the outfit that Lizzie had found for him: a combination of a coat and a navy blue vest with buttons and gold embroidery like her dress. And he was wearing a wig!

“Oh. My. God,” she said, a little stunned, still holding her cell phone to her ear.

“Yes?,” John asked, cocky.

She let out a dry, ironic laugh as he approached her.

“You know, sometimes I wanted to have your self-esteem.”

"You should," he said, looking her up and down as if he was enjoying what he saw. For someone who was quite covered, she suddenly felt very self-conscious. But she understood. The sight of an aristocratic John caused her more inappropriate thoughts than she could have imagined. “After all, you are the most beautiful person in here.”

“More than you?,” she raised her eyebrows.

He shrugged.

“Right. The  _ second  _ most beautiful.”

Apparently John was committed to staying in character, because he held Bree's hand, kissing her knuckles before pulling her into a hug.

“How long have you been here?,” she asked. The deafening music gave her an excuse to speak close to his ear and take the opportunity to smell his perfume mixed with aftershave lotion. “You shaved,” she observed, sliding her fingertips down his jaw.

"It's called  _ accuracy _ ," he replied, in a terrible imitation of Lizzie's voice and accent that made Bree laugh. He had a point, he had taken the character seriously. She missed the sensation of his beard against her skin, but now she wanted to bite him. “I saw you and Lizzie coming in and I came in soon after. I wanted to see how long you would endure before begging for me to arrive soon.”

She snorted. Why did he have to be  _ so  _ cocky  – and why did he have to be right?

"You are very cruel, Lord John," said Brianna. Seeing him frown, she giggled, “Denny told me that his sister calls you that because of your accent. I found it very appropriate, especially tonight.”

“I didn't know you were into roleplay, Miss Fraser.”

"Everyone has their fetishes, apparently." She bit her lip and maybe the lighting was deceiving her, but she could have sworn she saw his pupils dilate, his eyes as dark as night. A shiver ran down her spine, but before she could say anything else, a clearing of throat that came behind John caught her eye.

Denny!  _ By God _ , Brianna thought, if Lizzie saw him dressed like that she would eat him alive. John had said that even if he and Dottie managed to convince Denny to go to the party, his friend would argue that he would not spend money on a costume. Lizzie solved that problem within minutes by finding an outfit that she knew would fit Denny because she had spent a lot of time looking at his body. Denzell had looked really sexy and Brianna wondered if everyone looked that attractive in 18th century clothes or if they already had the advantage of being attractive anyway.

“You came!,” she smiled. Denny smiled too, although he looked uncomfortable and like he wanted to hide. Brianna wasn't sure if she should say anything to try to get the white elephant out of the room and risk making things worse between them. She knew that she should be right at the bottom of Denny's list of favorite people at the moment and she really was sorry for that.

“I don't know how he did it, but John convinced me that I hadn't been humiliated enough during all my years of life.”

“It's the Grey effect,” John replied. “And I'm not talking about myself.”

"Shut up," Denzell snapped, but Brianna realized he was embarrassed.

John loved Denzell as a brother and Brianna knew that he cared for John far more than she ever could  – they had known each other for years, Brianna had been in John's life for months. However, she cast a look at Denzell while keeping her body close to John, trying to use all of her facial expression and body language skills so that the man understood what she meant.

_ You know that I would never do anything to put him in danger, don't you? _

Denny shook his head, almost imperceptibly. It was enough to make her feel relieved. He had understood.

“Can't you keep your hands off each other? Seriously, get a room,” a familiar voice with a heavy accent said behind her.

She turned on her back and smiled so wide that her cheeks hurt, and Brianna threw herself into her brother's arms before he had a chance to prepare for the impact. Fergus staggered, but luckily he didn't fall. It would be the embarrassment of the year.

“I'm sorry,  _ petite beauté _ ,” Fergus said, loud enough that only she could hear. “For everything. I was terribly unfair to you.”

"You were," Bree agreed. "But I was also unfair to you, to both of you. I want to apologize too,” she took a step back to admire Marsali, who, like herself, had decided to just curl her hair that fell over her shoulders and her beautiful blue dress. “Mars, you look beautiful!”

“I'm  _ always  _ beautiful,” Marsali replied, pulling her into a hug. “And so are you.”

Brianna looked at them both, feeling her heart heat up inside her chest. How could she think that was a bad idea? They looked beautiful together. Now, more than anyone, she was hoping that the two would stop pretending they just wanted to have casual sex and find out right away that they were dying in love with each other.

“You have my blessing, okay?,” she held a hand for Fergus and one for Marsali. “I know you don't need it and that it’s stupid, but I love you both, and I want you both to be happy.”

"Don't be so dramatic, we aren’t that…," Marsali started, but Brianna interrupted.

“Please do not say that ‘you aren’t that serious’ because I am completely invested in this relationship and I’m already choosing the names of your children,” Brianna replied. “If it’s a boy, Germain …”

"Sounds like a dog's name," Fergus grimaced. Brianna let go of his hand to give him a push.

Lizzie appeared as if she had just passed through an invisible portal in the crowd, with glasses in each of her hands and an escort waiter who held a tray full of shot glasses. They each took one and turned at once, and Brianna shivered as she felt the tequila burn down her throat. If they needed to drink to be comfortable in those clothes, she would like to start with something lighter. Something cold and that tasted like strawberry, preferably.

Almost half an hour later, Brianna discovered that Dorothea Gray knew how to make a grand entrance. She was sure that almost everyone who was near the entrance turned to look at the girl who, Bree guessed, had decided to dress up as Maria Reynolds, Hamilton's mistress. She had seen other girls in a red dress like Maria's in there, but Dottie's left them all in the shade. It looked like she had specially commissioned it to make that impression: from John's look of despair, along with his murmur of  _ oh, no _ , she noticed that he was thinking the same thing.

“Sorry I’m late!,” Dottie announced in her melodious voice, seeming to shine so dazzling. “Brianna, you look wonderful.”

“You can be sure that you are much more,” Bree assured, hugging the girl that, after Lizzie, should be the most lively person there.

Dottie hugged John, calling him uncle and saying that he should grow his hair because the style suited him, making Brianna giggle. Then her blue eyes widened with a smile of pleasure to see Denny and, assuming the position of empowered and independent woman that she was, she stepped forward and hugged him.

Brianna could have sworn that Denzell looked like he was about to pass out.

"Let's give them a little space," Brianna whispered, squeezing John's arm to make him walk with her to the bar. “They would make a beautiful couple, don't you think?”

John snorted, but he didn't look as upset as he possibly would have liked to be.

“After seeing your reaction about Fergus and Marsali, I decided that I won’t meddle in the affairs of relatives and friends.”

"I'm  _ not  _ a meddler," she protested. “I'm just …”

“Hot-headed? Too stressed?”

She looked at him.

"Wow, bold of me to assume that I could make you fall in love with me in three months," she growled, making John smile and lean over to kiss her in the cheek.

In the second drink, Brianna realized that the alcohol was not really helping her to forget the discomfort the dress was causing her. She was grateful that John was there with her  – Fergus and Marsali had disappeared, probably together, and from a distance she could watch Denny and Dottie talking. Bree was surprised by the fact that he seemed to be talking passionately about something that was very important to him and Dottie seemed equally interested, looking at him intensely. Or she just really wanted to kiss him.

“Have you seen Lizzie?,” Brianna asked, realizing that the last time Lizzie had approached them was... well, she had no idea how much time had actually passed, but it had been many songs ago.

“No,” John replied. “Do you want to leave already?”

“Don’t  _ you _ ?,” she asked.

"We won't be leaving before you dance with me," he said. Brianna replied with a look that said  _ ha, sure. _ “I didn't dress up like this for anything!”

“I'm not going to dance, definitely not in this outfit,” she crossed her arms. “This corset is suffocating me.”

“Don't worry, we'll get rid of it later.”

She moistened her lips in response, feeling the desire for him burning inside her once more. As much as she was tempted to advance that "later" and run away with him so that John could tear that dress off of her, there was something more important taking over her mind and needing attention.

“John, I'm  _ really  _ worried about Lizzie,” she admitted. “She has been gone for hours and I’m not seeing her anywhere.”

Suddenly, breathing seemed even more difficult. There was an obscure corner of her memory where she hid bad things, as if she threw the dirt under the rug  – it was still there, but it didn't need to be visible. At that moment, however, fear caused the trauma to resurface like it came to haunt her: literally the most frightening thing that could disturb her in that Halloween.

John probably saw her face go pale  – she had felt her head spin and suspected that her blood pressure was low  – and her eyes widened with panic and concern. He didn't ask, he just understood.

"Let's go look for her," he said, keeping his voice steady and calm as he took her hand.

She hated herself for it. She knew that  _ that  _ was the last thing she should be thinking about, and she had lied to herself in the past year by pretending it was okay when they went to parties. Everything was fine as long as she and Lizzie and Marsali were together. Bad things happened when they were separated, and Brianna's eyes filled with tears as she walked with John leading her, as her vision was blurred and nervousness made her legs seem unsteady.

Lizzie didn't seem to be anywhere. They found Fergus and Marsali among the dancing people  – they were both a little boozed, but Marsali seemed to sober up when she saw the fear in Brianna's eyes. The two joined them in the search for Lizzie and Brianna interrupted some people to ask if they knew where the bathroom was or if there was some access to behind the scenes access where... she couldn't even speak, but she was already thinking that someone might have taken her somewhere. As long as it was under her consent, great  – but Bree wouldn't rest until she was sure of it.

Only the fifth person they stopped was able to tell her where the bathroom was and she lifted the skirt of her dress to walk as quickly as possible while John led the way, pushing people out of her front. The sound of her shoes seemed to echo when Bree reached the bathroom hall, feeling as if she had been kicked in the back. Lizzie was against the wall and a guy twice her size was holding her by the arms while he kissed her neck. Brianna knew Lizzie well enough to distinguish her turned on face from her disgust face  – and she was sure he was holding her against her will.

Brianna didn't even think about it before she threw herself on the man's back, pulling him with all her strength and using the element of surprise to get him away from Lizzie. The moment his arms released her, Lizzie fell to the floor like a rag doll. Brianna kneed the man's crotch and the moment he bent over, screaming in pain, she used her elbow to hit him in the nose. Blood flew on the wall and on the floor.

“You bitch!  _ What are you doing? _ ,” the man shouted, looking completely out of his mind. His eyes were bloodshot and his broken nose was already purple and starting to swell. He advanced towards Brianna like a demon and she caught his neck in her arms in a rear naked choke. She was a good fighter, but the man was much stronger than she was, and if she hadn't hurt him before, he probably would have attacked her.

“The question is what are you doing, you motherfucker! You were harassing my friend!,” she yelled, as out of her mind as he was. The man tried to answer, tried to deny, but she didn't care. She squeezed his throat even harder and he let out a noise from someone who was choking. “John, call the police!’

The words escaped her mouth before she even thought about them. John had knelt down next to Lizzie to check on her, but in the moment he heard the word  _ police  _ he froze like a statue.  _ Shit _ , Brianna thought,  _ I'm an idiot. _

“ _ Brianna _ ?” Fergus's voice as he reached the hallway sounded as desperate as Bree felt.

“Fergus, call the police, security, anything! That bastard tried…,” she couldn't finish the sentence, but Fergus and Marsali had already seen Lizzie's condition. Brianna finally dropped the assaulter on the floor and just to make sure he wouldn't run, she kicked him in the ribs.

“I’ll kill you, you filthy slut!” he shouted.

"Good luck trying," Marsali growled, disgusted. Fergus was already on the phone, asking for help, and Bree ran to Lizzie's side.

John still looked pale and she was feeling terribly guilty for putting him in that position, but her biggest concern was Lizzie’s condition.

“Honey? Can you hear me?,” she asked, holding Lizzie's face in her hands. “Oh my God, did he drug her? We need to go to the hospital... we need an ambulance …”

"No," Lizzie replied, sounding sleepy. Brianna felt like a ton had come off her shoulders and blew out a sigh of relief. “My dad…”

"Okay, let's get you home," Bree agreed.

"No, my dad will kill me if he sees me like this," Lizzie mumbled. Brianna swallowed, feeling like her brain was failing to think of something that could really help Lizzie and that would actually work. Good heavens, she knew that the Wemys had no health insurance and that an ambulance would probably cost the price of a year's rent on their apartment. Why couldn’t she just think before she spoke?

"It's okay, dear," Bree said, caressing Lizzie's face and trying to sound as calm as possible, even though the adrenaline was still screaming in her veins and tears of dread trickled down her face. "I'll call my mom, she‘ll tell me what to do. We're going to take you to my place now, okay? We’ll take care of you.”


End file.
